Greatness
by Bellalover
Summary: "We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!" After the events of that fateful Halloween night, Bellatrix heads the search for the Dark Lord; her frayed emotions threatening to consume not only herself, but the entire Wizarding World.
1. Following Bellatrix

**A/N: **Hey all! I've been an avid reader of Bellatrix fics for...forever, and finally decided to post my own...hopefully someone will like it!

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, Bellatrix wouldn't have died. =(

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Her voice in his ear is a deadly purr.

"Don't you _want _power, Barty? Don't you secretly _yearn _for a real sense of purpose in your life?"

He swallows the nervous lump in his throat. He isn't sure which is more distracting-the breathy tone in which she speaks, or the feeling of her body just lightly pressed up against his back.

"And what if I did?"

His voice quivers, just that _tiniest _bit, but enough. Enough for her to chuckle maliciously, to run her fingers through his hair as though he were nought but a toy for her amusement. In all probability, he supposes he is.

"Oh Barty...Barty, Barty, Barty."

His name rolls off her tongue in waves, sending sudden chills of pleasure down his spine.

"Are you _sure _you want this, little boy? There's no going back, you know. Traitors are always dealt with...one way or another."

He feels, rather than sees, her lick her lips.

"I want this."

His voice is stronger now, his mind more determined. No longer will he remain stifled in his father's shadow, playing happy families for political gain. He had heard many rumours of the man whose name everyone wished to speak, and rather than being fearful, he had been intrigued. The notion of fighting against everything his father stood for had been equally pleasing, of course. Oh, how he hated that man...revenge would be sweet. _Revenge, revenge, revenge_.

Ironically enough, he had his father to thank for his new..._connections. _He had come home from the Ministry late one night, lamenting the sudden surge of Dark Magic, cursing names Barty had recognised as some of the most influential in society. He had heard names like _Lestrange_, _Rosier, Malfoy, _and _Black_; heard words like _"charm...incidents...doesn't add up...influences of old families...dangerous...attacks...no proof, of course...rumours...He Who Must Not Be Named...worrisome." _The words had imprinted themselves on his brain, and he went to bed satisfied that night, secretly relishing the day when he too might have a hand in such..._strife_, his father had called it.

Less than a week later, he had caught sight of _her. _Her dark hair had seemed to absorb the sunlight, trapping it within the refines of her wild curls. A too-tight, too-short dress clinging to the curves of an all too dangerous beauty. Even the way she moved had mesmerised him-striding purposefully with head held high, even as she walked into Knockturn Alley, into the seedy underbelly of Wizarding London. She had emanated power, conviction, and most of all, fire. _Fire, fire, fire. _Greatness, surely, she is on the path to greatness.

As though she had sensed eyes upon her, she suddenly turned, tilting her flawless face in his direction. Brown locked with glittering black and he thought he was drowning, surely he would drown in her perfection. _Drown, drown, drown. _She beckoned him to follow with a knowing smirk, and Merlin help him, he didn't try to swim.

"I want this" he repeats, turning to face her fully for the first time.

He feels her probe his mind then, toss through his memories with ease. Amusement dances in her eyes, as well as something he can't quite place...triumph, perhaps? A sense of pride?

"Very well, Barty...you shall have your chance...I will bring you to Him."

She smiles then, a genuine, indulgent smile, and he knows he has made the right choice. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he had known she would lead him to greatness.

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**A/N: **Should I continue? Reviews are much appreciated =)


	2. Introductions

"Kneel!"

Bella's voice comes out in a sharp hiss, her wand digging into the small of his back. Within seconds, she is kneeling beside him, head bowed in a posture of sheer reverence. Truthfully, Barty doesn't know where to look. From beneath his hood, he sees that old blood stains mar the varnished floor, their patterns almost artistic in his mind. Encircling them are equally hooded figures, entirely menacing even in their current lax states. Though he will never admit it, Barty is almost weak with nerves. What if he fails to impress the Dark Lord? What if he is deemed unworthy of such servitude? Would Bella be the one to torture him for his shortcomings? He feels his head will explode with insecurities and then, with the apparition of one single figure, each negative thought seems to vanish into nothingness.

Sheer power radiates from Voldemort; heady waves that threaten to consume Barty's very soul. Despite the blood roaring in his ears, he dimly hears Bella's sharp intake of breath and wonders if she can hear the wild thumping of his heart. He knows that she, of all people, would understand the yearning that has set his veins on fire.

"So my Bella, what have you brought me? A gift for Nagini, perhaps?"

Laughter erupts from the surrounding Death Eaters, and he feels Bella's body stiffen at their mockery. She stands, pushing back her hood, keeping her heavily lidded eyes downcast in respect.

"If I may, My Lord...I have brought you a new recruit."

She raises her head then with a sly smile, meeting her Master's scarlet eyes.

"I believe you will be very pleased with him Master...both for his loyalty to the Cause, and his...connections."

Her black eyes gleaming, she gestures to Barty.

"May I introduce him to you, My Lord?" Her voice is now positively strained with excitement.

A mirthless smile graces Voldemort's lips as he takes his seat upon a throne-like chair at the head of the room. He considers the hooded figure beside Bella for another moment, absentmindedly twirling his wand through his long fingers.

"You may, Bella. I hope, for your sake, he is worthy of such an introduction," he hisses.

Bella's smile merely widens further as she runs her fingers over Barty's hood. Then, as though it has started to burn her fingers, she whips it back.

Among the rising whispers and murmurs, her voice is seductively playful.

"Master, I give you...Barty Crouch Jr."

Her Lord's answering smile makes her toes curl.


	3. Aspirations

**A/N: A slighty shorter chapter, hopefully updates will be more frequent! Slight hints of Bella/Voldemort in this one =) This is for my lovely reviewer, Ella Rosier! **

The whispers and murmurs don't bother Barty in the least. If anything, others doubting his loyalty merely doubles his resolve to become one of the Dark Lord's greatest servants. He knows the other Death Eaters are probably entirely sceptical of his desire to join the Cause, debating what could possibly make the Minister for Magic's _son _want to fight for the other side. Perhaps they fear his role may be that of a double agent? That or they're wondering if and how Bellatrix managed to persuade him to join them in the first place; the whispered words _'feminine wiles" _have certainly caught his attention a few times. At this, he is unable to contain a smirk. The past week he has indeed thought much about Bella and her...wiles. He is only human after all... and a young male, at that.

Even now, in one of the most important moments of his life, she seems to dominate his thoughts-though for a different reason. He sees her as what he himself must aspire to be-the Dark Lord's most faithful; powerful and deadly-a force to be reckoned with. And who would ever suspect her as a bringer of swift and sure death? Charm and beauty can blind people against many things, after all. To him, Bella is an inferno, an all consuming blaze of passion. She'd burn him to cinders without a moment's hesitation, of this he is certain, yet it only reinforces his admiration of her devotion to the Cause _and_ the growing lust he just can't seem to _want_ to quash. So he vows, in that instant, that he will be as faithful a warrior, if not more so, than Bella-the Dark Lord is his salvation, and must always be his first priority. Bella, he decides, will be his second.

He needs his Mark. _Now._ Wants to prove himself. _Now._ Wants to fight in the Dark Lord's name. _Now._ _Now, now, now. NOW! _A sudden low chuckle interrupts his mantra, bringing him back to his surroundings.

"Raise your head, young Bartemius," commands the Dark Lord languidly.

The Dark Lord, he realises, has probably been watching him silently all this time, Bellatrix now standing closely at his right hand side.

"So..." he hisses. "You will be _that _faithful, hmm?"

He laughs, then, a high pitched sound, absentmindedly stroking Bella's arm as he does so; seemingly oblivious to the pleasure his touch brings her.

"We shall see, little Crouch, we shall see."

At this, he turns to face Bella once more, twisting his features into a grimace of a smile.

"You have done well, Bella. Rest assured your reward shall be great."

She knows it will, and cannot help but smile at the thought.

**A/N: Reviews-good or bad-are appreciated.**


	4. Welcome to the ranks

**A/N: I _still _don't own Harry Potter. Thanks to those who reviewed ;)**

Though Voldemort will most likely never admit it, he sees much of himself in young Barty Crouch Jr. There is certainly something reptilian about the boy that intrigues Voldemort immensely-from the random flickings of his pointed tongue to the sleek, stalking gait with which Barty seems to move. Their feelings towards their fathers are apparently similar also; from having briefly searched the boy's mind, he recognises the hatred, the frustration and the indignity that he himself feels when he thinks of that...Muggle filth. Even now, he cannot suppress a hiss of anger at the mere thought of that name. And yet, revenge had been so entirely gratifying-just as it would be for the boy, when the time was right. Indeed, if nurtured properly, the boy's rage would be a formidable weapon among his ranks.

"Leave us," he hisses. "Bella and Barty remain behind."

The other Death Eaters disapparate immediately, plumes of dark smoke swirling in their wake. Voldemort observes Barty silently for another few moments, taking note of the boy's growing excitement. He knows that he desperately yearns to receive the Mark, to prove himself. Only moments ago, he heard the boy's silent intentions to be His most faithful, even more loyal than His Bella. Luckily, she isn't anywhere near as accomplished a Legilimens as her Master-the boy would be no good to Him half dead, after all. But still, Lord Voldemort wondered...it _was _a rather ambitious claim to make, particularly from one who hadn't witnessed Bella's skills firsthand.

"Rise boy, and roll up your sleeve."

Only time would tell of young Barty's loyalty...and if he wavered in his faith to the Cause...well, at least Bella would have a new plaything...for as long as the boy survived anyway.

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The Dark Lord's long spidery fingers are touching Barty's skin, and Merlin help him, the radiating power is as intoxicating as the Firewhiskey he once stole from his Father's study.

"Do you swear your allegiance to Lord Voldemort and his Cause?"

The Dark Lord's wand is idly tracing his skin, his scarlet eyes boring into Barty's. Barty doubts he can appropriately vocalise his eagerness.

"I do, my Lord. I pledge my entire being to you! I swear to you I shall be forever faithful, believe-"

He is cut off by a chuckle from the Dark Lord, and immediately falls silent. Bella, he sees, is grinning broadly.

"Enough Barty! I shall judge you by your actions, not the words you may think I wish to hear."

Though the words are spoken in a tone of amusement, Barty knows they are also a warning he must forever heed.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he says meekly.

Seconds later, Voldemort's wand is burning, and Barty feels as though his entire arm is on fire. He tries with all his might not to think of the words _searing flesh_, to revel in the honour he is being given, but despite his best efforts, he cannot prevent a howl of pain from escaping his lips; Bella's wild laughter ringing loudly in his ears.

And then, as quickly as his pain came, it is gone, and he is Marked.

"Rise Barty, you may now count yourself as one of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters."

A malicious smile crosses his face.

"You are dismissed."

With a kiss to the hem of his Master's robes, he stands, hardly daring to believe the events that have just taken place.

"Thank you My Lord," he murmurs.

He meets Bella's eyes before he disapparates, silently thanking her for bringing him to meet her Master. She gives a small nod of understanding, and grins.

"Welcome to the ranks, little Barty," she coos.

His new life begins.


	5. Wandering Thoughts and Teasing Tones

**A/N: Longer chapter-yay! So...I hope I've kept Bella and Voldemort in character in this one-their relationship is one that I find fascinating, to be honest. Also, there's very obvious hints of Bellamort at the end of this chapter since J.K.R herself has said that Bella was in love with, and sexually obsessed with Voldemort. I like to think that even though this love was unrequited, Voldemort would have appreciated, and even encouraged her...affections. *grins***

**Harry Potter isn't mine-with that, on with the show! **

Bella is renowned for many things-patience not being one of them. Her Master has been sitting quietly for almost ten minutes now, and while she'd normally have been content to simply be in his presence, the events of tonight hadn't been normal in the least. She'd brought the son of the Minister of Magic to their side, for Salazar's sake! She smiles smugly as she imagines Lucius' jealousy at her success-really, the fool struts around more than those ridiculous peacocks Narcissa had persuaded him to purchase. She shakes her head ruefully. With her talent and Black blood coursing through her veins, Cissy could have been so much more than a little pureblooded wife.

But what of Barty? There is something about him that Bella inexplicably likes, and truth be told, she doesn't genuinely like many people. But Barty...he is different. She senses the intense anger that lurks beneath his youthful exterior, and feels a certain kinship with him in this respect. How powerful would his _Crucio_ be, she wonders? Perhaps he'd perform it on her the next time she sees him...she licks her lips at the thought, grinning madly.

The boy will certainly be an invaluable spy, she muses. Right under the nose of the Ministry, and whoever would suspect him? She can hardly contain a gleeful laugh at the thought. Those Muggle loving fools and blood-traitors won't even know what's hit them!

Barty certainly has other advantages too. She is fully aware of his lust for her, the way his eyes quickly rove over her form when he thinks she isn't looking. While she will certainly only ever feel such intense desire for one man, it might be entertaining to play with Barty for a while...teach him a few things, perhaps?

"The only thing you'll teach the boy is the Dark Arts, Bella," hisses the Dark Lord suddenly.

"Perhaps you need me to re-educate you in the art of keeping your thoughts within your _own _head, rather than projecting into every mind around you?!" he thundered.

Colour rising high in her cheeks, Bella falls to her knees.

"Forgive me, My Lord!" she utters desperately. "I must confess, I am rather distracted...given tonight's events. I meant no disrespect, I assure you."

"What you _meant _is of no interest to me, Bella," he said maliciously.

"If you allow your schoolgirl lust to distract you, then you shall lose favour with Lord Voldemort very quickly."

She swallows the rising lump in her throat, remaining silent.

"But...Lord Voldemort is merciful, and rewards his most faithful, as promised."

He allows a slight smile to grace his pristine features, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"May I ask you something, My Lord?" she asks cautiously.

He nods wordlessly, and she continues, regaining some of her earlier confidence back.

"Why do you suppose Barty truly wanted to join us? He seems...different to some of the others-I don't sense a weak boy looking for protection, or even a desperate ambition to share in our glory, like some of the others," she spits.

She seems to pause to reconsider her thoughts for a moment, before she continues.

"When he first asked me to bring him to you...He almost seemed as though he just wanted to be part of our family...to find himself in his servitude to you," she says slowly.

Voldemort affords her a twisted smile.

"Quite insightful, Bella. Yes, I believe young Barty is looking for a Cause to pledge himself to, a way to escape the restraints that have been placed on his mind and magic," he muses. "He is intelligent enough to know that within our ranks, he will learn not only great things, but also what it means to feel like you truly belong..." he says thoughtfully.

"That, and other things I shall not indulge to you, my Bella. The boy's mind is not something to be read and discussed at length, even with you."

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"Did I not promise you a reward, Bella?"

His voice is entirely filled with amusement, mirth dancing in his scarlet eyes.

She grins playfully, eyes wide in a disturbing parody of innocence.

"I believe you did, My Lord. You have always been most giving in the past," she smirks.

He laughs then, ending their coy pretences. Salazar help him, but she is entertaining.

"As have you, Bella, as have you," he chuckles.

The faintest blush appears in her cheeks at his words, though the seductive gleam in her eye distracts from it well.

"But tonight, you have done exceptionally well," he continues. "And so, Lord Voldemort has decided you deserve a greater reward than usual."

She literally thinks her heart is going to stop.

**A/N: The next chapter will pick up immediately where this one ends...Bella has earned her reward, after all! Review please!**


	6. Lust

**A/N: No mention of Barty in this one...he'll reappear after the next chapter! This is full to the brim of Bellamort...hopefully neither character is too OOC!...sincere apologies if they are. Hope you all enjoy-maybe review if you like what you're reading ;)**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine, and most likely never will be.**

It doesn't take Voldemort's infamous skills as a Legilimens to learn the thoughts running through Bella's mind. Though she is currently doing her best to remain composed, he senses the growing desire within her, the frantic need that threatens to consume her. The heaving of her breasts isn't exactly subtle either, he thinks, grinning.

Of course they've slept together many times-though love is a weakness, lust is one of the few emotions he allows himself to feel, and who better to quench his thirst than a pureblooded beauty like his Bella? Their encounters are always passionate, always intense, and _always_ incredibly satisfying. Though he will never admit it to himself, it is only when he is consumed with her that the world he so fiercely works to improve falls away to nothingness-in those instances, Bella ceases to be just a mere follower, and instead becomes part of Him.

Tonight-though he _can't_ understand _why_-he feels a need to reward her more than usual. He knows that inviting her into his bed would be a great honour to her, just as it always is, and yet...she had truly outdone herself in bringing him the Crouch boy. But the question still remains-if sex is the ultimate reward for Bella...how to reward her on this occasion? He watches her silently for a few moments before entering her mind and rapidly skimming through some of her older memories with ease.

And then, as though Salazar has hissed the answer in his ear, he knows.

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One of the most frustrating (and ultimately satisfying) things about Bella's 'encounters' with the Dark Lord is her inability to keep her lust in check while he (utterly composed, of course) keeps her waiting. Try though she might, she cannot help but feel the pace of her heartbeat increase steadily, the burning heat that courses through her veins as she imagines the frantic coupling she has come to expect as a reward. Tonight, however, she isn't entirely sure what to expect...what could be more rewarding that becoming one with the Dark Lord, after all? No sensation could ever compare to the feeling of his body in and all around her, to the moment where she reaches nirvana and he spends himself within her. Having to come back to reality after these encounters is among possibly the most torturous moments of her life, worse than any _Crucio _she could ever cast, and often she feels like weeping for the loss of such magnificent sensations.

Suddenly she feels the Dark Lord's mind enter her own and search through her memories. The pace at which he does so is almost nauseating, and she fears as though her mind will collapse under the speed of his mental assault; she cannot even glimpse each memory for herself, each runs into the other, whirring around, more elusive than the Golden Snitch. She grits her teeth against the uncomfortable sensation and concentrates on keeping her mind shields down. Her mind, after all, is as much the Dark Lord's as her own.

Before withdrawing from her mind, he extracts the memory of their last night together, allowing her to regain her bearings...and her arousal. She lets out a low moan at the recollection, her desire more fervent than ever now. Meeting the Dark Lord's hungry gaze, she can only hope her reward will be granted soon.

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Hearing Bella's moan makes it all the more tempting to simply pull her under him and have his way with her, reward be damned. Yet he knows that by delaying their gratification, it will be far more satisfying in the end, particularly for Bella, who by now is panting like a bitch in heat. Before he satisfies her lust, he will reward her in other ways. He smirks evilly. Tonight they would entertain some blood traitors.

"Bella?" he hisses.

"Yes, my Lord?" she manages.

"Tonight, Lord Voldemort will grant you a series of rewards."

"More than one reward?! That is most generous, Master, thank you!" she exclaims.

"Indeed," he hisses.

"So, my Bella, let us begin...How would you feel about...paying your little Gryffindor cousin a visit? Perhaps teach him a lesson, hmm?"

If he didn't know better, he'd swear by her expression that she climaxes right then and there.

**A/N: If anyone has any opinions about what Bella's rewards should be, please don't hesitate to share them! I have a few ideas, but they're probably liable to change.**


	7. Fallen stars

Sirius Black, though brash and headstrong, is no fool. Every day the world around him grows darker, and he cannot always manage to fully suppress the terror that gnaws at his gut. Loyalty and trust are two things he has always valued highly, and in these times, they are certainly rare commodities. Even now, as he looks around at other members of the Order, he is on edge, unable to shake the feeling that there could be traitors amongst them. Others, he knows, may be under Voldemort's control, performing horrific acts without even realising it. He fears he will drive himself insane with suspicion and stress, and end up like his deranged cousin-a shell of his former self. Terror. Panic. Confusion. This is the Wizarding world. This is the War.

At least he has his friends, he muses. Truthfully, he doesn't know where he'd be without them-James especially. He'd probably be worshipping the same maniac as _her, _too caught up in a world of power and prejudice to realise he'd signed his soul away. Though he will never admit it-no, not even to James-he sometimes wonders if he should have tried harder to sway Bellatix away from the Dark Arts; sometimes, he imagines her fighting for their side, imagines her wild hair whipping about as she dodges curses...in those instances, they are children again and the world seems full of endless opportunities. Who could have guessed that a Sorting Hat would ultimately define their paths in life?

He knows the time will come when he has to face Bellatrix in battle-whenever he glimpses her slender form he can't seem to move in her direction and engage her in a duel. There's no doubt in his mind that she'll duel to kill, and truthfully, he isn't entirely sure he could kill her. If he could...wouldn't that make them equals? He shudders at the thought. She isn't Bellatrix anymore, she is _Bella_, the Devil's right hand woman...He refuses to be her equal.

* * *

"Patience Bella, the Gryffindor will come," hisses Voldemort.

Bellatrix, he notices with amusement, is behaving like a child about to receive their wand. Bouncing excitedly on her heels she whirls about, a vivid picture of exhilaration and anticipation. Occasionally, red sparks emerge from the end of her wand as she moves-a clear indication of her growing impatience and readiness to duel. He wonders idly if this is how she behaves on every mission, and slightly regrets not having accompanied her before.

"My Lord?" she asks breathlessly, suddenly pausing mid-twirl.

"Yes, Bella?" She really is entertaining in such high spirits, he thinks.

"Am I duelling to kill or to capture?" she asks curiously.

"Perhaps neither, Bella...Often mental assaults are the most effective in weakening resistance...But, it is whichever you prefer, Bella...my accompaniment is merely part of your reward...do with the blood traitors what you wish..." he says languidly.

She frowns then, deep in thought, slowly tapping her wand against her thigh.

"Death is not enough for my traitor of a cousin," he hears her murmur. "He first needs to feel the betrayal he reaped...the pain...no _Crucio _will break his spirit as effectively as a traitor would...but who..."

Her eyes dart wildly about as she continues her ramblings.

"Regulus wasn't enough...wasn't _close _enough to push him over the edge...yes, one of those fools should do nicely."

Voldemort can barely suppress a grin at his most faithful's intensity-the moment that Sirius Black turned his back on Bella was a foolish one, indeed.

"If I may, Bella...sometimes the merest _hint _of betrayal is enough to incite some wizards...have you a name in mind?" he asks maliciously.

Considering his words, she remains silent for a moment, then a truly evil smile lights her face as she nods.

Voldemort watches, slightly transfixed, as she begins spinning around again, tilting her head so that she is looking at the night sky above them. Wild cackles fly from her mouth as she moves.

"Oh Sirius," she sings, gazing at the dog-star above her.

"Are you ready to _play_, little cousin?"


	8. Messing with your mind

As usual, the Four Marauders and Lily are among the last to leave the Meeting-it has become almost a ritual for them to remain behind a little longer than the rest, if only to keep their comradery alive in such dark times. Sometimes, they'll return to Godric's Hollow and chat for hours, other times they'll have a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks-never the same routine, if they can help it. As Gideon and Fabian Prewett disapparate ahead of them, the five immerse in the idle conversation that lately, never truly manages to take their mind off the growing conflict in their world-somehow it all comes back to the War.

James and Lily Potter are the next to leave; Lily's complaints of sudden nausea and James' equally loud insistence that she take a potion ringing in everyone's ears.

Remus is equally reluctant to linger about, since the Cycle is almost upon him, and he suspects he may have caught a nasty bout of the flu. His senses certainly aren't as sharp as they should be at this time in the Cycle.

"Hope Prongs survives Lily's wrath tonight," Sirius chuckles, Remus and Peter joining in his laughter. Lily's temper is formidable, after all.

A wild giggle slices through their laughter like a knife, and Sirius thinks his heart may stop, right then and there.

"Oh Siri," Bellatrix says seductively, emerging completely from the shadows. "Perhaps you and your little friends should be more concerned about surviving _my _wrath, hmm?" she hisses, dark eyes gleaming dangerously.

Summoning up all his Gryffindor courage, Sirius draws his wand, knowing that Peter and Remus will have done the same beside him. His eyes search the shadows around Bellatrix for any hint of movement, any sign that she is not alone.

"None of your Death Eater scum with you tonight, Trixie?" He uses the childhood name he knows she hates, and is surprised when not an ounce of irritation crosses her features.

"Oh no, Siri, I don't need them tonight, you see," she coos. "Not when my allies are closer than you might think anyway," she grins maliciously. Her obsidian eyes flicker for a single moment toward his left, so quick a movement that Sirius wonders if it happened at all.

"I don't see many of your allies around here," he spits. "Unless that coward Voldemort has finally decided to do some fighting for himself?" he asks mockingly. If he can rile her up enough, her concentration levels will fall. Experience has taught him this. Beside him, he hears Peter's sharp intake of breath. Whether it is at the use of Voldemort's name, or his brashness, he isn't sure-probably a mixture of the two.

This time, his words succeed in touching a nerve and he barely manages to avoid the purple and red jets of light that thunder in his direction. Peter's Shield Charm isn't quick enough, and he falls to the ground in a screaming heap, both legs shattered into pieces, and blood gushing from the veins of his wand arm.

"Let that be a lesson for your impertinence!" she shrieks.

Then, as though a calming hand has been placed upon her, she falls silent, an odd look of triumph in her eyes that Sirius finds truly disturbing. Indeed, when she speaks again, in that maddeningly playful tone of hers, he can determine a definite hint of smugness in her voice.

"As I was saying, Siri, perhaps my allies are quite near to you already..."

This time, there is no mistaking it, her eyes slide toward his left. Toward Remus.

The Earth seems to suspend all time, and all he can hear is Bellatrix's cooing voice.

"Perhaps _my_ allies are _your _allies, cousin...How else would I have known where to find you tonight?"

From behind his Shield Charm, all he can see is Remus' horror-stricken face.

"Shut up," he murmurs quietly.

"Merlin, Sirius, are you really _that _stupid? Didn't you wonder why your little half-breed didn't sniff me out all along? Mind you, I nearly blew my own cover when that filthy Mudblood started her whining...she's gone a bit chubby actually, don't you think?" she asks conversationally.

"Shut up," he repeats.

Remus is shaking his head wildly, words rushing out of his mouth, willing him to _see reason_, that Bellatrix is trying to mess with his mind, _he'd never join them_, he can trust him...they're the Marauders...

"_SHUT UP_!" he roars, light blasting from his wand in Bellatrix's direction. She deflects his spell with almost bored ease, that same twisting smile dancing around her lips.

"You don't believe me Siri?" she mocks. "Shame. Thought I'd give you fair warning about your friends, since you _are _still family, after all...Never mind then."

She flips her hair over her shoulder as though she is casually strolling through the hallways of Hogwarts, a smirk etched on her face.

"Till the next time cousin...give my regards to Potty and the Mudblood."

With that, she is swallowed by the shadows once more, her laugh echoing all around them.

Remus' voice is weak when he speaks again. "Sirius, she's messing with your head mate, you know me! She-"

When Sirius turns to look at him again, he can't help but falter. He has never seen such darkness on his friend's face.

"I know...I know what she's like. Help me get Peter to St. Mungo's," is all he says. It is the first time in their friendship that Sirius will barely meet his eyes.

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**A/N: click the button if you please =)**


	9. Immortality and Mortal Wounds

**A/N: FINALLY, an update! Sincere apologies for the delay...college has begun again **_**and**_** I have a very cute and demanding puppy called Bella, who doesn't always appreciate it when my attention is focused elsewhere... (I know, I asked for it when I named her!) I'm actually not completely happy with this chapter to be honest...I **_**hope**_** it's just me being fussy, and that it's not terrible to read...the next chapter will be more entertaining, I promise ;)**

**On a equally frustrating note, I'm making a last ditch plea for reviews-with over 400 hits I would appreciate readers taking a minute to let me know their thoughts-good **_**or **_**bad-I'm open to constructive criticism and plot ideas. As always, many thanks to my loyal and lovely reviewer, Ella Rosier-this one's for you =D **

**-****Chapter 9****: In which Voldemort issues Bellatrix some crucial advice, and Snape makes himself useful.**

* * *

"Oh Bella," Voldemort chuckles. "That was...truly inspired...quite entertaining, actually."

Her eyes are bright as she gazes at him, cheeks flushed from her enjoyment and pride at the praise she receives.

"My Lord! Thank you for accompanying me! Knowing that you that you were there with me...it...it gave me a new sense of power...I felt..."

He watches, bemused, as Bellatrix struggles to find words to express her feelings.

"Immortal?" he suggests, grinning. He had sensed the shift in her mind from the moment she'd confronted the blood traitors-she always oozes confidence in any duel, but this time had been different, he knows...she had felt completely and utterly fearless, reassured by his presence, he had assumed. Even if her formidable skills as a duellist _had _for some reason failed her, no curse would have touched her with him watching in the shadows.

"Yes!" she exclaims, hands waving about as she gestures madly. "It was as if...with you by my side...I felt...as though nothing could happen to me..." she says, suddenly slowing in her speech. She looks at him then, eyes filled with a new sense of wonderment, and also, conviction.

"Careful Bella, immortality is a dangerous thing," he hisses. "After all, in order to achieve that first step to immortality, part of you has to die," he says, grinning maliciously.

"My Lord?" she asks, slight confusion knitting her eyebrows.

"You must remember, Bella, the next time you battle in my presence, I may be otherwise occupied. The sense of security you felt tonight is a penetrable armour-even in my presence, and with your skill, you are _not _immortal..." He pauses for a moment, considering her before he continues. "A curse can _still_ kill you-even if I am mere feet away..." As he says the words, a foreign emotion strikes what blackened shards remains of his heart. The thought of Bellatrix, his most faithful, dying in his presence...death would be too generous for her murderer, he knows that much, recognises the anger in his veins, at least.

She nods slowly, before she speaks. "Master, forgive me, but I cannot help it," she says apologetically. "You know I live to serve you-to die for the Cause would be my greatest honour! Fighting in your name..." she pauses in the middle of her passionate rant. "I _know _I'm not immortal, Master...but in your presence, fighting side by side with you...I can't help but _feel_ as such." She grins slyly then, before continuing flirtatiously. "Quite an effect you have on me, My Lord."

He chuckles darkly at her words. "Indeed it is, Bella." He neglects to voice the other thought that crosses his mind-_I hope it won't be her downfall. _

* * *

"Damn it woman! Can't you answer me?_WILL HE BE ALRIGHT_?"

Try though he might, Sirius cannot calm himself. Distracted by Bellatrix's insinuating taunts, neither he nor Remus had truly realised the extent of the damage to Peter's arm till it was almost fatal. It was only once they'd healed his broken legs and tried turning him over that they'd realised the severe blood loss he'd encountered-though she'd hit his arm with a single curse, a different vein in his body had slowly opened with each passing minute. Any spells they'd cast had merely succeeded in making the bleeding worse, and half blind with fear and terror, they'd apparated to 's in what had seemed like the longest twenty seconds of their lives. They'd arrived drenched in blood, oblivious to the alarmed and horrified faces around them; screaming for someone, anyone, to help them. The Healers had immediately conjured a stretcher and whisked Peter away, shouting for blood replenishing potions and a whole range of other things that Sirius hadn't understood.

Remus, though equally shaken, had had the good sense to send a Patronus to Dumbledore informing him of the situation. Mere moments later, the Headmaster had arrived, with Severus Snape in tow, and immediately made their way to Peter's room. Sirius had hardly been able to contain his rage at the sight of that greasy git, and true to form, Snape had been unable to suppress a sneer at him; albeit a less hateful one than normal.

That had been ten minutes ago, and having heard nothing, Sirius had finally cracked.

"That's our best friend DYING in there!" he roars.

"I know that, Sir, it's just that-"

"DAMN IT!" With a vicious wave of his wand, Sirius blows up one of the wooden chairs in the waiting room. Splinters of wood soar across the room, and giving a small squeak of fright, the Healer casts a quick Shield Charm over herself. Remus, meanwhile, used to the notorious Black temper, continues to sit in silence, holding his head in his hands. It is only when he suddenly hears Dumbledore's voice that he finally looks up.

"Calm yourself, Sirius, Peter will be fine." Though his words are as kindly spoken as ever, the customary twinkle is noticeably absent from the Headmaster's eyes.

"He will?" Sirius chokes. "How'd you-there was so much blood, I-"

"Severus has seen this type of injury before," Dumbledore says softly. "He was certainly of considerable assistance to the Healers tonight...though they may well have saved Peter by themselves, Severus helped slow the rate of blood loss, at any rate." He smiles slightly then, peering at Sirius over his half moon spectacles. "Perhaps some gratitude is in order, Sirius?"

As if on cue, Snape appears, his long robes billowing behind him as he walks. Upon seeing him, Sirius manages a stiff nod, and a curt "thank you," while Remus, still white-faced, leaps to his feet, and shakes his hand, murmuring "thank you Snape" repeatedly. Half hidden behind his curtain of dark hair, Snape gives a slight grimace before asking, "Who, may I ask, were you three unfortunate enough to encounter?"

Though Sirius _is _obviously grateful towards Snape, he doesn't miss the hint of mockery in his voice. At the thought of his cousin, fury rises in the pit of his stomach, twisting his organs furiously. Tapping his wand against his thigh, he turns away and strides towards the exit, ignoring the concerned look on Dumbledore's face, and Remus' anxious one. This time, he blows up the glass doors of the hospital as he leaves.

"Ah," Snape says silkily. "It was dear cousin Bellatrix then**..."**


	10. Sex, Lies, and Crucio?

**A/N: Apologies once again for the wait...if many of you actually **_**were**_** getting antsy, which I doubt! Dedicated to 'my most faithful' reviewer, (lol!) Ella Rosier, whose wonderful reviews are one of the few reasons I've continued this story (follow her example, people!) Since I wasn't overly thrilled with the last chapter, I give you some Bellamort sexy-time...*grins* I don't personally think the chapter calls for a change in rating, but let me know if you disagree.**

**Disclaimer: I **_**still **_**don't own HP, obviously.**

* * *

"Are you ready for your next reward, Bella?"

"My Lord," she says teasingly. "Surely you know by now that I am _always _ready," she purrs.

He raises a nonexistent eyebrow at her remark, a gleam entering his scarlet eyes. Before she even registers his movement, he is upon her, pinning her to the ground with his body, his long, white fingers moving slowly up and down her thigh. Her breasts heave against his body as she grows increasingly excited, and the merest flicker of a smile crosses Voldemort's snake-like features.

"Well, Bella," he hisses, vanishing both of their clothing with a wave of his hand, positioning himself at her entrance. "Let's see how ready you are, hmm?"

* * *

Rodolphus Lestrange is _not_ a stupid man, contrary to what his wife may think. He is all too aware of her effect on men, and the toys she enjoys playing with...only to break them when it suits her. At one point, he had almost managed to convince himself that he didn't necessarily mind her bed-hopping behaviour-after all, she always returns to him and their bed, doesn't she? Surely that has to count for something? But there are some toys that even Rodolphus cannot ignore, and so when rumours of his wife and the Dark Lord had reached his ears, an all consuming, fiery snake of jealousy had wound its way around his organs.

Just thinking about Bellatrix and the Dark Lord now ignites a flame in the pit of his stomach. After all, how can he ever compete with the Dark Lord for her affections? Night after night he finds himself staring at her curled form, wondering if the Dark Lord will always be the third invisible person in their bed. Will they ever have sex again without either of them thinking of their Master? Some nights, the frustration and feelings of inadequacy are all just _too much_ and he ends up pounding a pale skinned, dark haired, Knockturn Alley whore into a wall, pretending with all his might that the legs around his waist are those of his wife, that the pleasurable moans in his ear are those of Bellatrix. These days, all Rodolphus can do _is_ pretend.

Truth be told, Rodolphus just doesn't understand. He knows that their marriage is one of many arranged unions, but he is, after all, relatively handsome, wealthy, deadly with a wand-so _why _is Bellatrix so dissatisfied with their marriage? Why can't she _ever _look at him the way she does their Master? Lust, adoration, seduction-all mixed into her black eyes; desire seeping from every pore of her skin. Were his jealousy for any other man, Rodolphus would simply take his wand and duel him in an instant. But, he muses, swirling his Firewhiskey around in the glass, the Dark Lord is no mere man...and Bella, no mere wife, he thinks regretfully. Eyeing his usual whore, Rodolphus downs the rest of his drink, savouring the burning sensation as it travels down his throat. As his Bellatrix look-alike winks at him lasciviously, he stands, bracing himself inwardly. It is time to pretend.

* * *

"My LORD!"

Bellatrix's climax announces itself with a typically loud scream of appreciation and a seemingly unnatural arching of the back. As she lies beneath him, a mass of shaking limbs and sweat, Voldemort thrusts for the final time, spending himself within her with an almost earth-shattering intensity, a feral roar escaping his lips. Struggling to breathe properly, she smirks up at him, her black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I _told_ you I was ready," she pants.

He can't help but laugh then, his mind somewhat slightly hazed by his previous ecstasy and the entirely bewitching body that he is still a part of.

"I won't doubt you again, Bella," he chuckles, claiming her lips as his own once more.

"Take out your wand," Voldemort hisses.

Fast approaching her nirvana, Bellatrix doesn't fully register her Master's words, continuing to grind herself against his muscular form. It is only when he stops moving altogether that she comes back to Earth, more confused than satisfied, it must be said.

"My Lord?" she asks tentatively.

"Your wand, Bella. Take out your wand. Now." His eyes gleam angrily for a moment as he looks at her. "You'd do well to pay attention to my words," he hisses.

"Forgive me, My Lord!" she says hurriedly. "I was...preoccupied," she says grinning, as she takes hold of her wand.

As soon as her fingers close round her wand, her Master resumes his previous movements, thrusting into her body once more. She bits back a moan at the pleasurable sensation, trying to form a coherent sentence. Why does she need her wand?

"Because," her Lord says silkily, examining her mind, "as your second reward, you're going to cast the _Crucio..._" He speeds up his movements as her excitement grows at the mention of her favourite incantation.

"On whom, Master?" she manages, bucking her hips wildly. She is almost there; heat swirling in the pit of her belly.

He waits for the faintest hint of her impending orgasm before he answers. "On _me_, Bella," he smirks, her body dissolving violently around him once more.

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**A/N: review? :)**


	11. Was it good for you, too?

**A/N: So, I recall saying that Barty would be in the next chapter...around 5 chapters ago!...he **_**will **_**actually reappear in the next one, I promise! For some reason, this chapter seemed to take forever to write-I have NO idea where my muse is hiding out :P Anyway, this one's for those who reviewed-my new reviewers, TheRugMaster and Frankizzle, and Ella Rosier, MMF ;) I really enjoy reading your opinions, so thanks for sharing them! **

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"Crucio _you, _My Lord?" she pants.

The Dark Lord merely smirks at her, his head cocked to one side, gazing at her intently. "Why so surprised, Bella? The thought _has _crossed your mind before, has it not?"

It has-mostly because He's the one person who she can't imagine having such power over in reality...that, and the fact that she finds such a vision entirely arousing. Truthfully though, she is somewhat surprised that he does not think her insolent or disrespectful for having had such a thought.

"Yes-I mean no...well, it h-" she stammers, disbelief written all over her aristocratic features. The naked body of her Master doesn't exactly help her efforts to form a coherent sentence, she thinks fleetingly.

With a wave of his hand, they are both dressed once more, Voldemort's red eyes glittering amusedly. "Better?" he chuckles.

A slight colour rises high in her cheeks as she nods, a small smile playing about her lips. "For now, Master," she says playfully. Twirling her wand in her fingers, she considers him for a moment before she speaks again.

"Forgive me, My Lord," she begins slowly, "but I don't fully understand why you would allow me to curse you in such a manner..." She falls silent suddenly, another thought springing to mind-is this a test of her loyalty?

"_No_, Bella, it is not," the Dark Lord responds, sounding bored. "Lord Voldemort is aware of your curiosity...your innermost fantasies..." he hisses. "I merely sought to reward you by granting some of them...your hesitation suggests your displeasure...Perhaps you would prefer to return to your husband's bed for the rest of the night?" he asks maliciously.

She can't help but cringe at her Master's harsh words. "My Lord knows I would prefer to spend the remainder of the night here," she says quietly. "Forgive me if I seem displeased, Master, I assure you I am nothing of the sort."

She lifts her eyes to his slowly, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. "My hesitation springs not from displeasure, My Lord, but from...respect." When he says nothing, she continues, growing slightly in confidence as she speaks. "If I am reluctant about anything, Master, it is my causing you such pain in reality."

Her answer seems to please him, as he gives a twisted smile. "You didn't hesitate to imagine what effects your _Crucio _would have on me, Bella..." he smirks, "therefore you shouldn't hesitate to see the effects in reality."

He stands up, arms wide, looking at her expectantly. "I expect to feel the full force of your spell," he says rather sternly. "This is the one and only time I will afford you a reward of this sort...therefore, I suggest you approach it your usual...vigour." His scarlet eyes glinting wickedly, he chuckles. "I've no doubt you'll enjoy it."

She moves to stand also, a fresh excitement etched on her face. Knowing that this _is _truly a reward, and that her Master _does _want this, is all the encouragement she needs. Raising her wand and pointing it at his chest, she screams the _one_ word she never thought she'd actually direct at her Lord.

"_CRUCIO!" _

* * *

Voldemort has always been slightly curious about the sheer power of Bellatrix's _Crucio_. Of course, he's seen her perform it in his company countless times-Merlin, he was the one who nurtured her skill after all, but he'd never been on the receiving end of her curse. Till now. Now, he truly understands why Bellatrix is renowned for her Cruciatus, and amidst the searing pain coursing through his body, he feels a flash of pride for his most loyal servant. Such a distraction is short-lived, however, for moments later, the curse intensifies, and all he can feel is sheer agony. Bursts of white light explode behind his eyes and his back arches severely, sharp gasps of pain escaping his tightly pressed lips. White hot knives seem to stab every each of his skin, and despite his best efforts, an animalistic scream is pulled achingly from his throat. Opening his eyes slowly, he tries to focus on Bellatrix's face through his blurred vision, her dark power igniting every nerve in his body. In this, a moment of rare vulnerability for him, she looks every inch the fallen angel...his Bella.

Bellatrix has always had a highly vivid imagination, yet this is one scene she finds she enjoys more in reality. Watching the Dark Lord writhe under her curse, beads of sweat dancing on his pale skin, she could _never_ have imagined the intoxicating nature of the scenario she finds herself in. His feral scream is like some kind of perverse music to her ears, while the arch of his back reminds her somewhat of herself during their sexual encounters. This, coupled with the dark magic coursing through her veins, endows her with an intense arousal that seems to flood her entire body with heat. The curse itself is also incredibly physically taxing, and thus, she finds she is soon breathing heavily along with her Lord; on the brink of the most intense orgasm of her life. Indeed, when she finally lifts the curse, both are as exhausted as the other, and she falls in a graceful heap at his side.

"Was it good for you, too, Master?" she laughs breathlessly.

He lifts his head to stare at her properly, a strange mix of incredulity and defiance on his face, and after a moment, simply begins to laugh with her.

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**A/N: Any suggestions or requests for a particular scene will be taken on board! **


	12. Courage and Collages

**A/N: I was determined to avoid doing my History and English reading for college, so fanfiction was the obvious distraction-YAY for a speedy update! =D **

**I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter, which surprised me, since I'm normally always eager to just write Bella chapters...this one's for my wonderful reviewers, and is especially dedicated to Ella Rosier, who was eager for some Barty scenes ;) (Hope it was worth waiting for!)**

**Hope you all enjoy, many thanks for your continued reading and reviews.**

* * *

The pain in his arm is now more of a dull throbbing, though his veins _still_ feel as though they're on fire. The events of the night seem rather like some wonderful dream-he can scarcely believe that the Dark Lord saw him, let alone accepted him into his ranks...and Bella-she'd been proud, he'd seen it on her face. A sense of triumph bubbles up within him and he can't help but grin wickedly at the thought of fighting in the Dark Lord's name...and all under the nose of his father, a fool obsessed with the capture of Dark wizards. It is a wonderful secret to have, truly, but from the moment he left the Dark Lord, Barty has thought of nothing but sharing the good news with a friend. As he prepares to apparate, a wild laugh flies from his lips, the same grin pasted on his face. He just _can't _stop grinning.

Regulus Black is in over his head-has been for a while now, actually. The news clippings decorating his room speak volumes of his passion for and dedication to the Cause...but they were cut out long ago, before he received his Mark. Strange how one can change so quickly, he muses. Months ago, he'd thought of nothing but serving the Dark Lord, of pleasing his family, of shaping up to Bellatrix's example...it had seemed so wondrous then, the notion of such power, so seductive; to finally stand out, free from the shadows of his relatives...what a naive fool he is. When his parents had spoken to him of joining the Dark Lord, they hadn't mentioned the Muggleborn children he'd have to kill as part of such servitude. When Bellatrix had promised glory and rewards, she'd said nothing about the brutal torture he'd have to inflict on helpless men as their wives were raped and killed before their eyes. In moments like this, he longs for Sirius' bravery, or even Bellatrix's conviction, but both would laugh if they knew of the terror gripping his heart...both would think him pathetic for his panic, or worse, Sirius would be completely indifferent. No collage of news clippings could have prepared him for what his new role in life entails, and the worst part of it is that he can't back out of his service to the Dark Lord. If he does...he's a dead man.

"Reg! Mate, it's Barty, open the bloody door!"

In Barty's impatient state, it seems to take an age for Regulus to appear. When he does, he is slightly taken aback by the purple shadows beneath his friend's eyes, and the ghostly white pallor of his skin.

"Merlin, you look like death, Regulus," he says, half awed by the change in his friend. Regulus merely gives a tired smile, and waves Barty into the room, gesturing for him to take a seat. The collage above the bed catches his eye, and his previous excitement is restored instantly.

"I've done it," he whispers excitedly. Regulus looks somewhat nonplussed for a moment, so he repeats himself, almost delirious in his haste to inform his friend. "I've done it. He accepted me!" The emotion coursing through his body finally erupts and he launches himself at Regulus, laughing madly as he envelops his friend in a bone-crushing hug.

"We're servants of the Dark Lord Regulus, the both of us! _We _have the power to help fix this world-you and me!" He continues to chuckle even as he releases Regulus from his grasp, continuing his rant. "It's really all thanks to Bella, mate-she's incredible, really," he says, moving around the room; thus missing the haunted look that appears in his friend's eyes. "And the Dark Lord, he's _just-" _

"Congratulations, Barty," Regulus interrupts, a smile pasted on his face. "It's what you've always wanted...I couldn't be happier for you," he says weakly. Barty, too wrapped up in his own excitement, fails to notice his subdued nature, and shakes Regulus' hand vigorously, before launching into the events of his Marking; excitedly discussing what the future will hold for both of them till he finally notices that Regulus has fallen asleep.

Regulus isn't _really_ asleep-he's actually been pretending for the last two hours, hoping that Barty might leave-which he eventually does, thankfully. Though he _is _happy for his friend deep down, he can't help the sense of dread that swirls in the pit of his stomach with the news. And Barty...he seems even more obsessed with the Dark Lord than Bellatrix, and that _truly _unnerves Regulus. Though they all joined the Death Eaters for different reasons, he suspects that they all have one thing in common: their servitude will be the death of them.


	13. Great Expectations

**A/N: I'm SO SO sorry for how long this update took-college and friends have taken over my life! Hopefully you guys will enjoy this chapter enough to make up for it; I hope you do! ;)**

**Dedicated as always to my loyal and fabulous reviewers.**

* * *

Green is a colour which suits Lucius Malfoy magnificently. Envy, however, does not.

Bellatrix, he knows, values the Dark Lord's praise and attention more than anyone else in the ranks. He also knows that for some reason, she is currently occupying the highly coveted position at the Dark Lord's right hand-he suspects it is a combination of relentless energy and a mad obsession with torture; of course Bellatrix can, in addition, provide their Master with an entirely different kind of servitude...a slight hiss escapes him at the thought of her smug smile and the knowing look in her dangerous eyes-after her success tonight, she will surely be unbearable to be around.

Barty Crouch Jr...Bellatrix had delivered the Minister for Magic's _son _to the Dark Lord. Even Lucius has to admit-however grudgingly-that it had been a truly remarkable feat for the witch. No doubt she'd used her seductive wiles to sway the boy; after all, he muses, when Bellatrix _truly_ desires something, she doesn't often hesitate to use her body as effectively as her wand. This he has learned from personal experience-he, once the naive fool in Eden, she, the fruit dangling precariously within his reach.

He often wonders how two beings of the same blood can be so entirely different, and at other times, is expressly grateful that the youngest and eldest Black share few qualities. Narcissa is calmer, cooler, and far less excitable than her explosive sister-appropriately refined and respectable to bear the name of Malfoy. The very first time he'd seen Narcissa, he'd seen heritage, nobility and a calm sense of power. She'd carried herself with an air of superiority and quiet confidence, and when he'd smirked at her, she'd matched it with a wonderfully arched eyebrow and a gleam in her eye. He'd liked that in a woman then, and in that single instant, he had known she'd be his wife.

The sound of heels clicking on the wood floors of the room bring his thoughts back to the present, and he turns, meeting the ice blue eyes of his wife. Wordlessly, he merely holds his hands out, and looking both curious and confused by the weariness he exudes, she steps into his embrace. They stay like that for longer than either of them expected, each simply enjoying the feeling of holding one another.

"Lucius?"

"Hmm?"

"Did something happen tonight?" she asks tentatively, her head still pressed against his chest.

He sighs, wishing he could actually share the details of the Meeting with her; tell her about the Crouch boy and the infuriating glee of Bellatrix, of his own frustrations, his fears for himself and their families...but he can't. To drag Narcissa into the dangerous dark biding of the Dark Lord...better that she stays as far removed as possible from his other life, he reasons.

And so he merely smiles slightly, pressing a kiss to her carefully coiled hair.

"Nothing some good news wouldn't fix, Narcissa."

At this, she lifts her head to gaze into his eyes, a pretty smile dancing on her lips.

"Well in that case, Mr Malfoy, I believe I can be of service," she purrs, her eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

She reaches out to hold his hands, winding their fingers together, before placing his hands on her stomach, laughing happily at the curious look on his face.

"I'm pregnant!"

* * *

"So let me get this straight...you think Moony's working for Voldemort, and that he told Bellatrix about the meeting tonight?"

James shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. "That's a bit daft, even for you Padfoot."

"You weren't there, mate!" Sirius snaps."You didn't see how she looked at him, how she almost _killed_ Peter, so DON'T tell me that it's daft, DON'T!"

He sits down at the table again, breathing heavily, avoiding James' surprised gaze.

"I_ know_ you think there's a spy in the Order Sirius," James says quietly. "But _Remus_? He wouldn't betray us, you know that."

Sirius can't help the bark of laughter that escapes his lips.

"We can't be sure of anything anymore. We're in a _war_, Prongs...every day, people are being killed, and you know what? Our side is losing. No one wants to admit that, but we are. Voldemort has _huge _numbers at his command-we don't even know who his supporters are, who's being controlled by Death Eaters-the Ministry's in shambles trying to hide things from the Muggles-and masses of them are being killed too..."

He looks directly at his friend then, sheer despair enveloping him in a suffocating grip.

"So you tell me, James...is it _really _that daft?"

For as long as Lily has known Sirius, he has never shouted at James like that. Never. Even from upstairs, she had heard every word perfectly, and it had almost startled her enough for her to forget her nausea. _Almost. _She'd been vomiting into the sink when he'd stormed into the house, yelling for James, and from her awkward position on the floor, she'd simply waved for her husband to go. Now, some ten minutes later, she has curled herself into the foetal position, and is waiting impatiently for her stomach to settle so that she can go downstairs to see what's happened. Part of her would rather stay in her current position, and remain ignorant of whatever has happened to make Sirius so furious; the other part of her wants to rush out, wand in hand, and find whoever has hurt her husband's best friend.

With great effort, she heaves herself off the floor, and slowly begins to make her way downstairs. The grandfather clock downstairs gives a loud _gong _and absentmindedly, she notes how late it is. The next gong suddenly seems to trigger something in her brain, and by the time the twelfth gong has sounded, she knows the precise reason for her recent nausea and lethargy. As though her realisation has given her new energy, she runs into the kitchen, startling James and Sirius with her sudden appearance.

"Lily, what's the matt-" James starts to say, rising from the table quickly.

She merely laughs excitedly, and launches herself at him, wrapping her legs around her waist.

"I'm pregnant, you fool! We're having a baby!"

In that, the sweetest of all moments, the troubles of war seem to fall away, and the three of them dance round the kitchen excitedly; the very picture of joy and happiness.

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**A/N: I'm working on the next chapter already so it'll be up asap! **


	14. Do you want a piece of me?

**A/N: Yay for a speedy update! =D So...I really hope no-one's too OOC in this chapter...I don't think they are, but apologies if anyone does.**

**As usual, this is for those who R&R, I hope you enjoy it =)**

**On with the show! (I still don't own HP)**

* * *

"This cup," her master hisses, "is one of the greatest things I could ever entrust you with, Bella."

He looks her in the eye, scarlet boring into black, and she can't suppress the thrill of pride that rushes through her body. "I want you to place it in your vault in Gringotts, and place the strongest protection spells you know upon it." His mouth forms a twisted smile as he passes the cup to her, watching her closely for her reaction.

A strange kind of magic hums throughout her body as her fingers close around the cup, and she looks to her Master, curious to know what value this seemingly innocent looking cup could hold. Idly tracing the badger engraved on the cup, she speaks, determination soaring in her heart.

"My Lord knows I will guard it with my life."

"I know you will, Bella," he says seriously. "But," he hisses, "should you fail to keep it safe, if it were to fall into the hands of another..." His eyes gleam dangerously as he speaks, "your punishment will be as great as the reward I'm bestowing on you."

At this, she can only nod, inwardly terrified by the mere thought of such a punishment. Her Master's wrath is second to none, she knows, and she has no intention of feeling it if she can help it. As it is, she highly doubts the cup will fall out of her possession-after all, Gringotts is certainly one of the safest places in the world, and the Lestrange vault already has some of the strongest protective features in the Wizarding Bank, possibly even the strongest, she suspects. An image of a roaring dragon crosses her mind, and despite herself, she grins. You'd want to be a fool to break into her vault, she thinks smugly.

"Do you feel anything, Bella? Holding the cup?"

Her Master's voice interrupts her musings, and when she looks up, He is looking at her with a curious expression on his face. She considers his question, turning the cup around in her hands. Certainly she feels like going out and torturing as many Mudbloods as possible...but that's hardly a new emotion. But...there _is _something, she can feel it. Power. It courses through her veins, not unlike when she casts the_ Cruciatus_, and she feels...alive.

With newfound wonder, she glances from the cup to Voldemort.

"Master, if I may...what is the significance of this cup?" she asks.

"This," Voldemort hisses, taking the cup from her once more, "is the cup of Helga Hufflepuff."

"Hufflepuff?" she blurts out before she can stop herself. Voldemort merely raises an eyebrow at her surprise, a knowing smile twisting his thin lips.

"Forgive me, My Lord," she says hurriedly. "I was merely surprised that you would value anything from that House." She bows her head respectfully, hoping He won't think her too impertinent.

"I understand your surprise, Bella, but I suggest you still afford this cup the same importance as before," he says dangerously, waiting for her nod of affirmation.

"Now, as I was saying," he continues. "This cup is that of Helga Hufflepuff. It is, as I'm sure you sensed, an object of great power, and of particular importance to me personally." With a final look at the cup, he passed it back to her once more, and carefully she held it her hands, listening intently to her Master's words.

"The exact significance of this cup is of no real relevance to you, Bella. All you need to know is that the cup you hold is crucial for Lord Voldemort's success and the longevity of our reign," he says, smiling evilly. "...This cup is part of something greater than you can ever imagine, than anyone could imagine," he murmurs.

Somewhat astonished by the weighty responsibility He has bestowed upon her, she moves toward Voldemort, still holding the cup tightly in her hands. Once she is mere inches from him, she pauses, looking devotedly into his eyes.

Reaching out, he tucks one of her wild curls behind her ear in a rare display of affection. "My Bella," he whispers. "If I should ever fall..."

Her heart constricts painfully at the thought, and she opens her mouth to protest-surely such a thing would never happen to the greatest wizard of all time! He places a white spidery finger on her lips, silencing her as effectively as an incantation, an odd gleam in his eye.

"It is unlikely, certainly," he smirks, "but _if _I were somehow defeated...I would rise again, Bella, I assure you of that."

Swallowing the constricting lump in her throat, she reaches to her face, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"Good," she murmurs, waves of relief coursing through her body. "Because if you fell and I thought you were gone forever...I'm not sure I'd survive it."

And though a voice in her head whispers that her Master will never return her love, never regard her as anything but a loyal servant, she nevertheless presses her lips to his; the purest and sweetest kiss she has ever experienced.

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**A/N: I don't have a set idea of what the next chapter will involve, or who's POV it will be from, so if anyone would like to make a suggestion/request, feel free to do so! =**


	15. Love and Marriage

**A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed and made suggestions for this chapter-I considered them, and **_**will**_** incorporate them into the story quite soon-I just felt it was a bit early in the story for some of the scenes, particularly Regulus' death, but they will be included, probably within the next...five chapters! Plus this chapter came to me during a history lecture (on Henry VIII, if anyone's curious) and I thought it would be a nice change of pace before things get hectic...I've read lots of fics about why Bella didn't have children (that she couldn't, she didn't want to, some where she **_**did,**_**) and I really wanted to write my own thoughts on the matter.**

**So, without further rambling from me, on with the show!**

When Rodolphus stumbles into his bedroom some four hours later, he is slightly surprised to see his wife there as well. He had half expected to be home before her, given that she usually slips into bed while he is pretending to be asleep already, too proud to let her know that he lies awake till she returns; though he suspects she knows he is never truly asleep.

"Bellatrix," he nods, slurring somewhat, despite his best efforts.

His wife, currently undressing, merely raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and slips her robes off her shoulders. At the sight, he stands as though carved from stone, drinking in the magnificent form before him. Lately, it is something of a game with Bellatrix; to tease him with her body, flaunt the marks left by other lovers, and withhold sex for days, weeks, even. Tonight is no exception.

"Rodolphus," she says coolly, slipping the last of her undergarments off.

From where he stands, Rodolphus can make out the ghosts of handprints on his wife's hips and ribcage, as well as two rather large love bites that mark the inside of her thigh and throat. Swallowing the wave of anger that rises in his throat, he moves past her to his own side of the room, and pulls off his robes with a wicked vindictiveness. He hears Bellatrix give a low chuckle, and silently curses himself for giving her such satisfaction. However, once he pulls his shirt over his head, he hears the faintest hiss slip out of her mouth. He realises, in that single instant, that he has surprised her by bearing marks of his own, and with a sly grin, stretches languidly to infuriate her further. If there's one thing that annoys Bellatrix, it's having to share.

"Been out with one of your whores?" she spits.

He turns, and imitating her earlier actions, merely arches an eyebrow.

"Been out _playing_ the whore?" he counters with a sneer.

"Jealous?" she asks silkily, moving to stretch herself across their bed.

It takes immense willpower from Rodolphus not to admire the stunning beauty splayed across the sheets, and with a growl, he turns away, clenching his hands into fists. He finds it far too easy to lose his cool with Bellatrix in these situations.

"Not jealous," he grits out. "Merely angry at myself that I agreed to marry you in the first place...everyone said you were the mistress, never the wife, after all," he hisses. This, he knows, is only partly true. Despite their issues, he never once regretted his decision to marry her, and the moment she said "I do" had been one of the happiest of his life.

"Oh Rodolphus," she laughs mockingly. "You _knew_ I didn't love you when I married you! Why on earth would that have changed? How pathetic!" she scoffs.

At this, he whips round, fury and alcohol clouding his mind. "Perhaps you were too concerned with sleeping your way to the top of our ranks, you greedy slut!" he shouts.

Bellatrix's eyes gleam menacingly, and for a moment, he fears he may have gone too far. Indeed, he doesn't notice her wand till it's too late.

"_Crucio," _she hisses angrily.

Biting down on his tongue to keep from screaming, Rodolphus learns, is _not _a good idea. Through his blurring vision, he sees that Bella has moved to stand over him, a wicked smile dancing on her lips. After what seems like an age, she lifts the spell, laughing viciously as she resumes her relaxed pose on the bed.

Spitting out the blood that has filled his mouth, he shakily stands and he sits on his side of the bed, ignoring her glare.

"Bitch," he growls, wiping the trail of blood from his mouth.

"You deserved it," she says with a snarl. "Don't _ever again _assume I have to use my body to gain power, Rodolphus," she warns dangerously.

With a humourless laugh, he turns to look her directly in the eye. What can he _do _but laugh? Trying to duel some sense into her would be suicide, and if anything _did _actually happen to her, the Dark Lord would kill him, anyway, he muses.

"Oh, Merlin. _Why _couldn't you have been like every other pureblooded woman, Bellatrix? Must you be _so _difficult?"

"Because I'm greater than them, as you know, you fool," she says with pride, preening on the bed.

"But have you _any_ intention of giving me an heir? Ever?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can help it, and his fingers close around his own wand for safety. The thought has been on his mind lately, and he can't stop wondering what their child would look like, whose features it would have, what House it would be sorted into...

"Aww. Does little Roddy want an itty bitty baby?" she sneers, slight disbelief in her eyes giving away her true emotions.

"Yes, Bellatrix, I do," he says firmly. "I want to continue our line, just like every other pureblooded family! It's your duty as my WIFE, Bellatrix!"

"_Duty_?" she sneers, eyes narrowed. "Don't make me laugh! Would you prefer to have married a brainless society twit, hmm? A wife that would willingly pop out heirs for you, stroke your ego for you?" she asks mockingly.

"I doubt my request is that far-fetched," he says tightly, trying not to let his disappointment show.

"Rodolphus," she says seriously, sitting up on the bed, "I have _absolutely_ NO intention of abandoning my Death Eater duties just so I can get fat and bring a screaming brat into a world of Mudbloods. None, understand? _None." _

The words strike Rodolphus' heart far more severely than he had expected. "What about after the war is over, Bellatrix?" he pleads, his heart sinking. "When we've won? When we've gotten rid of all the Mudbloods and blood traitors? Then...?"

She looks at him blankly, and he wonders if she is even considering the concept. Desperately, he searches for a way to make the idea more appealing to her, what would make her want to have a child?

"The Dark Lord!" he blurts suddenly. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Bellatrix merely stares at him, waiting for him to go on. "Wouldn't you like to have a son? One that would fight in the Dark Lord's name alongside us...Wouldn't that make you proud, Bellatrix?" he asks with a sly smile.

Nodding slightly, she smiles, and he knows she is imagining her son receiving his Mark; fighting alongside her. Then, as quickly as her smile appeared, it is gone, and a familiar determination is set in its place.

"I won't bring a child into this world, Rodolphus...not until we've won this war. We have a responsibility to purge this earth for the future pureblood generations, to make it safe-to give them the pure world they deserve, the one _we _didn't have...." A maniacal glint appears in her eye as she speaks, and Rodolphus can only smile wearily at her enthusiasm.

She settles herself comfortably in the bed and turns away from him, as usual; obviously, in Bellatrix's eyes, the conversation is over, whether he is satisfied or not with her reasoning.

"And by the way, Rodolphus...the next time you come home with scratches on your shoulders? I'll hex your balls so hard, you won't be able to _have _children," she says with fake sweetness.

"Hypocrite," he growls, pulling the sheet over the two of them.

After each of their nights, each is as exhausted as the other, and it isn't long till the room is filled with the soft breathing of Bellatrix, and the considerably louder rumblings of Rodolphus. Their peace, however, is short-lived, as the ringing alarms of their wards soon burst through the Manor.

**A/N: Yes, it's a cliff-hanger! *evil smile* Are things about to get messy? Is it a false alarm? Will I hold the next update ransom for reviews? Who knows?! Hope you all enjoyed, tell me your thoughts ;)**


	16. Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers

**A/N: Since I got such great reviews for the last chapter, I felt inspired to update asap! PLUS, it's my longest chapter by far! YAY! Enjoy! I'm hoping everyone's in character since I don't really read a lot of fics from the POV of Order Members... (Btw, I wrote this while listening to 'Angel' by Massive Attack so consider it the soundtrack of this chapter, lol!) **

**Many thanks for the continued reading guys, I get really excited when I see I've reviews, lol! =D**

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"Damn it!" Moody growls viciously.

Frank Longbottom is now somewhat nervous-anything that rattles Mad Eye, after all, can't possibly be good.

"What? What's wrong?" he asks, twirling his wand through his fingers uneasily.

"...I _knew_ it was too easy!" Moody whispers angrily to himself.

Frank had thought the very same thing from the moment they'd arrived. When they'd tested the wards protecting Lestrange manor, they had, obviously, been very powerful, but not as impenetrable as he would have suspected. The combined magic of the Order members present had been enough to shatter the protective measures of the Manor, and cautiously, they had advanced through the gardens; pausing just behind one of the high surrounding hedges.

"So you're saying this is a trap?" he asks urgently.

He looks around and catches sight of Alice, suddenly wishing she hadn't come on this mission. Now two months pregnant, he would have preferred her to remain at home, but she had been adamant that she would continue her work as an Auror while in the early stages of her pregnancy. He curses silently, fear gripping his gut. You certainly don't launch an assault on the Lestranges and expect things to go smoothly.

"Moody!" he hisses quietly, trying to attract the wizard's attention. "Have we walked into a trap?" he repeats.

Moody turns round quickly, his magical eye whizzing in all directions. "Extra protective measures," he says gruffly. "Dark Magic...if we risk trying to cross them...." He signals for the rest of the Order members to regroup, looking at Frank intensely. "We won't get a second chance at these scum, Frank, we may not even all make it out of here alive." He lowers his voice even more, looking at Frank meaningfully. "If you want to take Alice home...if you want to leave yourself..."

Frank gives an appreciative chuckle, "I would if I could, Mad-Eye, believe me." He turns round again, as the rest of the group surround them. "You and I both know she wouldn't leave, anyway," he stage whispers.

"So, are we storming the Manor?" Marlene McKinnon asks brightly.

"Better be," Fabian Prewett answers darkly, drawing his wand. "After what Dumbledore said she did to Peter..."

"CONSTANT VILIGANCE!" Moody snaps in a low voice. "Attacking with revenge on our minds will distract us from our goal-we duel to capture, _not _kill!" He gestures toward the Manor with his wand. "This is the home of two _Death Eaters-_crossing the wards was the easy part."

"So we need to test for other protections?" asks Benjy Fenwick gravely. A low murmur of agreement rises from the rest of the group, and Moody gives a nod of confirmation.

"Allow me," McGonagall says dryly. With a wave of her wand, the witch transfigures a nearby rose into a rat, and sends it toward the Manor with another flick. The instant it lands on the courtyard of the manor, it is incinerated, leaving behind a small pile of ash.

Frank swallows his apprehension as he takes in what remains of the transfigured rodent.

"Well," McGonagall says crisply. "I'd say the cautious approach worked out in our favour this time."

**********************************************************************************

"Rodolphus!" hisses Bellatrix angrily. "Get up, you fool!"

Hurriedly pulling on her cloak and boots, she hits her husband with a stinging hex for extra motivation. With an irritated howl, he rises from the bed, and throwing her a death glare, begins to dress as well.

"It's probably a false alarm, Bellatrix," he scowls. Nevertheless, he takes hold of his wand as well and pulls his mask on.

"I doubt that very much," she spits, moving toward the window of their room. "It's that damned Order of Dumbledore's, I'm sure of it."

"The Order? Attack us in our own house?" Rodolphus scoffs. "They wouldn't dare, they're t-"

"Oh be quiet Rodolphus!" she hisses, teeth clenched. She moves across the floor of their bedroom, pacing back and forth, tapping her wand against her thigh in anticipation of the coming battle. Pausing in her movements, she rolls up her sleeve, looking at her Dark Mark to centre her thoughts; taking in the intricate design upon her skin. Tracing it lightly with her fingertips, she takes a calming breath, and tries to let a plan formulate in her mind.

"We're probably outnumbered, Bellatrix," Rodolphus reasons, interrupting her thoughts. "We're going to have to notify some of the ranks...or the Dark Lord."

"We'll see..." she smirks suddenly, turning to face him. "They thought they could attack _us_..." she says, pulling her hood up. "Let's give them the fight they came for," she hisses, an evil grin lighting up her face.

**********************************************************************************

"We're sitting ducks if we just keep waiting here," Alice whispers to her husband. His uneasiness is rubbing off on her, and she almost yearns for the battle to begin, so that they will at least be active, and fighting.

Frank nods briefly in agreement, giving her hand a quick squeeze of reassurance. "If we move, we give away our position, Alice," he counters. "Besides, Moody thinks that they'll bring the fight to us, if their alarms have sounded," he reasons. "They might even bring some friends along," he says with a slight grin.

"All the more for us to capture and throw in Azkaban," she smiles, determination and adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A barely audible gasp from behind them draws their attention back to the current situation, and following the direction of Marlene's shocked gaze, the couple turns toward the Manor once more. There, leaning out of an upstairs window, smirking amusedly, is Bellatrix Lestrange herself.

"You know it's quite rude to just drop by unannounced," she calls out. "Especially at this early hour. Doesn't old Dumbles teach you any manners?" she mocks.

Gritting her teeth, Alice moves as stealthily as possible to assume her position along one of the hedges. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Frank do the same; wand drawn, and eyes narrowed in concentration.

Moody, meanwhile, moves from his position into the open, still remaining on the neatly manicured lawn of the Manor.

"Just returning the visit, Lestrange," he barks. "Heard you stopped by a meeting of ours tonight." He hobbles nearer the Manor as he speaks, looking directly up at Bellatrix with his normal eye. "Heard what you did to Pettigrew, as well," he growls, disgust creeping its way into his voice.

A wild cackle flies from Bellatrix's lips at his words. "I don't know what you mean, Alastor," she laughs. "You seem to have been sadly misinformed-I've been at home all night, you see," she says sweetly. "Though I'm sure that fat lump of a boy caught what he deserves," she adds as an afterthought.

Tightening her grip on her wand, Alice has to bite her lip from screaming a curse at the raven haired Death Eater. What she wouldn't give to face her in a duel, she thinks heatedly.

"Now if you wouldn't mind getting off my property," the witch hisses dangerously. "I think you've outstayed your welcome," she warns, twirling her wand in her hands.

Frank moves from his position to join Moody, and together, the two stare determinedly at Bellatrix. "We're not going anywhere till you're in our custody," Frank calls loudly. "There are _plenty _of cells in Azkaban ready and waiting for you and your Death Eater pals."

"Oh?" Bellatrix scoffs. "And who would these pals be then, hmm? Enlighten me, Frankie, I beg of you," she mocks boredly.

Alice holds her breath as she waits for her husband's answer. Any name would tip the Death Eaters off, after all.

However, before her husband can answer, a blue streak whizzes through the air, striking Benjy Fenwick in the chest. To Alice's horror, he does not stir when he hits the ground.

Hurriedly, the Order members begin casting disillusionment charms on themselves, and heart beating in her chest, Alice looks round for the source of the curse, Bellatrix's laugh ringing in her ears. She curses herself for having paid so much attention to Bellatrix-_why_ didn't they guess she was merely a distraction?!

A shriek from her left grabs her attention, and moving swiftly, she runs to the source of the noise. Marlene, her disillusionment charm wearing off, is being pulled under one of the hedges, thick vines wrapped all around her body. _Devil's Snare_, Alice thinks quickly. Devil's Snare...light...

"Lumos!" she shouts, directing her wand at the treacherous plant. As its vines release their hold on Marlene, she hurriedly helps her shaken comrade to her feet, thrusting her wand back into her hands.

"Come on!" she urges, half shoving her friend along.

An orange light misses them by mere inches as they move, and whirling round, Alice fires a curse of her own in the direction of the light.

"Stupefy!" she thinks, dimly aware that Marlene is casting spells of her own behind her. Where in Merlin's name did their opponents appear from? Not pausing to see if she hits her mark, she casts a Shield Charm over herself and takes off at a dead run, trying to find a better vantage point to fight from.

As she runs, a tabby cat streaks past her, and darts up one of the trees surrounding the gardens. Evidently, Minerva had been thinking along similar lines, Alice thinks with a grin. Pausing behind a tree of her own in a more sheltered corner, Alice looks over the gardens quickly, trying to pick out any of their enemies. From what she can see, Mad Eye and Frank are doing the same thing from behind a large fountain, and Gibeon and Fabian are crouched behind a large marble statue; rapidly firing curses at an unseen opponent.

Glancing quickly toward the Manor, Alice notices with a jolt that Bellatrix is no longer casually leaning atop the upstairs window sill. Having half expected that the female Death Eater would have been relaxedly enjoying the show, Alice is more startled than she would care to admit. Uneasy at the thought of not knowing the witch's whereabouts, Alice casts another disillusionment charm upon herself, silently praying that this one will last longer.

Mere moments later, she feels something move over her foot, and certain it is another vine of Devil's Snare-trust Bellatrix Lestrange to have Devil's Snare in her garden, she fleetingly thinks-she whispers a quick "lumos" and points her wand downward. When she looks down, it is all she can do not to scream. Steadily surrounding her, and seemingly appearing from nowhere, their scales gleaming under the light of her wand, are masses of snakes; their tongues flickering and tasting the air around her. Trying to breathe calmly, and not anger the creatures with any sudden movement, she utters a non-verbal 'Diffindo', slicing through most of the snakes around her.

Indeed, she is so immersed with ridding herself of the snakes that the sudden feeling of a wand tip pressed against her throat is enough to make her heart stop.

"Now now, Alice," purrs the distinctive voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Do I come into your garden and kill _your _pets?"

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**A/N: Spare _your_ pets the wrath of Bella-review!**


	17. Bellatrix vs Alice: Part 1

**A/N: Firstly, a massive thank you to all those who reviewed or added this to their alerts, _especially_ those who reviewed, I appreciate that a lot. =D As a thank you, I update with the longest chapter yet, and hope you all enjoy! **

**Again, I hope to get a lot of reviews for this chapter, since I put a lot of time into this update...(_and _I neglected my english and history reading so I need reviews to make me feel less guilty, ha!)**

**Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter...if I did, Bellatrix would have a best friend called Nicole. **

**On with the show!**

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Truthfully, Bellatrix can't actually believe how dense the members of the Order are. The moment she'd appeared at the window, Rodolphus-concealed with a disillusionment charm-had apparated directly behind Caradoc Dearborn and killed him with a silent killing curse before transfiguring his body into a stick. From her vantage point at the window, it had taken great willpower not to shriek with delight at her husband's skill, but even she knows when to hold her tongue to ensure victory. Mad Eye and the Longbottom Auror, meanwhile, had merely succeeded in tickling her greatly with their assumptions that she'd be in Azkaban anytime soon. In fact, they'd all been so focused on watching her, and making sure that _she _wouldn't curse anyone, that they'd forgotten entirely about her husband. Just as she'd _known_ they would.

Therefore, it had been almost too easy for the couple to set their plan in motion. While Bellatrix had captured the attention of their enemies, Rodolphus had quickly alerted and strengthened the existing security curses of the garden, bewitching different features of their property to harm intruders-for instance, if anyone but a Lestrange happened to touch the water in the fountain, their skin would melt away. For Bella, It had been all too tempting to send Alastor Moody flying into the acidic waters...

Bewitching the Black family duelling dummies, however, had been the most ingenious of all of Rodolphus' charms; though it had been Bella's idea of course. The dummies themselves had been a vital part of Bella's training as a teenager, and indeed whenever her Death Eater duties fail to sap her energy, she often retires to the gardens and exercises herself to exhaustion "fighting" the enchanted dummies. Not only do the dummies hone her finely crafted duelling skills, but they also help keep her equally renowned figure in shape.

Of course for the Order members, it seems as though they are facing multiple opponents of unwavering strength, which is precisely the beauty of Bella and Rodolphus' plan-after all, as far as they know, they are surrounded by Death Eaters...whomever would suspect an assault comprised largely of duelling dummies, after all?

Bellatrix, meanwhile had simply apparated outside to join Rodolphus and the two had waited stealthily in the shadows for the opportune moment to engage their enemies. Unfortunately for Alice Longbottom, Bellatrix is not one for letting opportunities to pass her by.

"Longbottom...filthy blood traitor..." she hisses in the witch's ear, running her wand along her temple. Pulling the witch further behind the tree, and thus out of sight, Bellatrix casts a quick silencing charm upon the witch; tucking the Auror's wand into her robes as she does so.

"How does it feel, filth? To know that I will kill you, and your husband?" she breathes, drinking in her victim's fear. "It was foolish of your little group to come here tonight, you know," she whispers maliciously. "Particularly when you simply barge through our wards..."

She smiles then, cocking her head to the side. "But then again, that's the nature of a Gryffindor, isn't it, hmm? To rush in, all brawn, no brains...no sense of _self-preservation_." She clucks her tongue in mock disappointment. "And people say _Hufflepuffs_ are the poor of brains."

Though the Auror's face shows no sign of her terror, Bellatrix is a master at deciphering emotions in her victim's eyes...and Alice's eyes are truly a portrait of the horror that engulfs her heart, much to Bellatrix's immense pleasure.

"You know," she begins conversationally, "blood traitors like you are probably the worst of the lot." She runs her wand along Alice's throat as she speaks, enjoying the slight shudder that ripples through her victim's body at her touch.

"Your disloyalty has allowed the good name of purebloods to be dragged through the mud-quite literally! Your sympathising with the Muggles and half-breeds is why the Wizarding World needs to be reformed Alice, don't you see, you traitorous scum? If you had _just _lived up to your role as a pure blood, I wouldn't have to kill you..."

She cocks her head to the side then, considering the Auror once more. "But then again, pure blood _is _a shame to spill..." At her words, the merest hint of hope flickers in Alice's eyes, and the sight is simply beautiful to Bellatrix.

"No," she whispers, leaning her head toward Alice's ear; her hot breath tickling the other woman's skin.

"No, Alice Longbottom," she continues. "I won't kill you."

She draws back to drink in the reaction of her victim fully, imprinting the Auror's face on her brain forever. Through her silencing charm, Alice is mouthing the words "thank you," and miniscule beads of sweat are sliding down her forehead.

"Oh Alice," Bellatrix chuckles, "don't thank me yet! I said I'm not going to murder you..." The light drains slightly from the other woman's eyes, and Bellatrix can't fully suppress the glee that enters her voice.

"...instead, I'm going to teach you a little lesson..." she hisses excitedly. "I'm going to make you feel pain like you can't even _imagine _Longbottom....I'm going to teach you what happens when purebloods turn their back on their blood."

By now, Alice is visibly shaking in Bellatrix's grip, and gesturing wildly to her stomach.

"Merlin, I know you're not the brightest star in the constellation, Longbottom, but hunger should be the least of your worries," she says irritatedly, raising her wand to the woman's temple once more.

At the movement, the woman grows even more frantic, and continues gesturing at her stomach, clearly desperate to tell Bellatrix something. Seeing that Bellatrix doesn't care enough to understand, she begins mouthing one word over and over again, since she obviously won't lift the silencing charm.

Noting the movement, Bellatrix focuses her eyes on the Auror's lips.

"Baby?" she asks sharply.

At this, Alice nods fervently, eyes growing wide with pleading.

"Oh Alice," Bellatrix squeals. "Congratulations!" she smiles widely.

At her smile, Alice recoils slightly, for it is entirely predatory in nature, just as Bellatrix intends it to be, of course.

"Well that changes _everything, _doesn't it hmm?" she says, cocking her head to the side.

In her grip, Alice seems to slacken slightly, relief and apprehension shrouded in her eyes. Indeed, she has right to be wary, given who she's dealing with.

"Two birds with one stone then," she giggles, pointing her wand at the Auror's stomach instead. "After all, Alice," she murmurs, a dangerous tone entering her voice, "I can't very well let you trespass without punishment, now can I? Lessons must be learned and all that!" she says maliciously.

"And anyway, one less blood traitor in the world is perfectly fine with me," she hisses, ignoring the silent pleas of the quivering woman before her.

"_Crucio," _she coos, almost soothingly.

The first thing that occurs to Bellatrix is that it is a shame she cannot hear the Auror scream for mercy. But, she supposes, silent torture is better than no torture at all, though it does make things less fun for her, she thinks ruefully. Alice Longbottom is also surprisingly difficult to break completely, which Bellatrix hadn't suspected in the least. The fact merely makes her double her resolve to cause her victim unbearable agony, and summoning up every hateful memory she can, Bellatrix pours new energy into the curse. It seems to do the trick, because instantly, the Auror's body begins twitching violently, and her eyes roll all the way back in her head. The sight is _mesmerising_, and so, combined with the immense effort she is putting into the spell, Bellatrix ends up doing the one thing she shouldn't do....

_She loses her concentration._

* * *

From her spot in the tree, Minerva McGonagall can see a number of things. Firstly, that the enemies they've been unable to defeat are in fact, duelling dummies; something that irritates the witch to no end, since they've wasted considerable energy fighting...well, dummies. Secondly, Caradoc Dearborn is apparently nowhere to be seen, and she worries that he may have been captured or killed by Rodolphus Lestrange. Thirdly, and certainly most worriedly, she has just noticed that Alice Longbottom is being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.

As head of Gryffindor House, Minerva has long since sought to instil courage and fight in the students she teaches. Now, as she takes in Bellatrix's elation, and Alice's silent agony, the lion within the tabby cat roars.

* * *

Alice Longbottom is no stranger to pain, having fought and been wounded in numerous battles before. The sheer power Bellatrix's _Crucio_, however, is going to kill her-of that she is completely certain right now. Through increasingly blurry eyes, she can just about make out the delighted grin that decorates Bellatrix Lestrange's face, and she suddenly closes her eyes-this will _not _be the last thing she sees, she thinks determinedly. Instead, Frank's face swims beneath her closed eyelids, and amidst the searing pain that alights each nerve, she smiles inwardly.

Suddenly, the pain lessens considerably, and then it stops altogether. Is she dead?

An ear-splitting shriek bursts through her brain and with great effort, she opens her eyes to see what has happened. There on Bellatrix's neck, is a cat, its claws scratching and tearing the Death Eater's skin viciously...Vaguely she recognises the animal...._McGonagall_...she smiles triumphantly.

Eventually, Bellatrix manages to grab hold of the Animagus and throws it solidly at the tree nearest Alice, cursing loudly as she does so. Half stunned from the blow, the professor reverts back to her original form, grabbing hold of Alice as she rises; wand outstretched toward the bloodied Death Eater. Distantly, Alice registers the shouts of Mad-Eye and Frank that they need to leave; right now she feels as though she is moving underwater.

"Minerva," Bellatrix snarls accusingly, lightly trailing a finger down one of the numerous wounds that mark her face, "too cowardly to simply engage me in a duel?"

The Death Eater's eyes flicker between McGonagall and the sluggish Alice, watching closely for any sign of attack. Having already been caught out once already, she will not be again.

"You never _did _know how to use your potential, Bellatrix," McGonagall answers, a slight note of sadness entering her voice as she regards her former student.

"And you never _did _know how to pick a winning team," sneers Bellatrix, twirling her wand dangerously between her fingers; an evil glint shining brightly in her black eyes. "Always the Gryffindor, running around, preaching about fairness and bravery of spirit...always willing to sacrifice yourself for a fight you cannot _win._" She smiles a toothy grin, never once breaking eye contact with the Transfiguration professor.

"Always the martyr," she hisses, raising her wand dangerously.

Before Alice can conjure up a shield charm, McGonagall transfigures the tree into hundreds of knives, directing them at the former Slytherin. Bellatrix's quick reflexes serve her well, and her Shield Charm sends the weapons back at the two Order members with alarming speed; another quick spell from McGonagall transfigures the knives into grains of sand, and harmlessly, they fall to the ground before them.

Looking around, Alice sees that the rest of the Order members are preparing to apparate, still fighting off attacks as they do so. She feels the pressure of Minerva's grip tighten, and prepares herself for the side-apparition she presumes they're about to make. As she moves, Minerva casts a shield charm for further protection, as a furious Bellatrix begins launching wave after wave of attack on the two.

Eventually, the Death Eater pauses, her chest heaving from exertion, colour high in her sculpted cheeks. Alice locks eyes with the other witch, and even from behind the safety of a Shield, cannot help the fear that constricts her chest as she takes in the threatening figure before her. As Minerva turns on her heel to apparate, Alice feels the tell-tale build up of pressure from all angles, and cannot help but give a sigh of relief that this ordeal is over.

Bellatrix continues staring at Alice, her black eyes narrowed maliciously; as though she has detected the hint of relief in the Auror's body, she smirks dangerously, directing her wand toward Alice once more.

"This," Bellatrix hisses threateningly, angry red sparks shooting from the tip of her wand, _"isn't _over."

**If _you_ don't want it to be over, review!**


	18. Prophecies, Potters, and Pleas

**A/N: Ok...I'm **_**really**_** annoyed at myself because I just realised I've been inconsistent with the events of the story, so I'll have to explain some things now...*bangs head***

**In chapter 9, I introduced Snape to the story, and you may recall that he helped saved Peter. In doing some research for **_**this **_**chapter, I remembered that it's only after Lily's death that Snape turns spy for the Order...so he would **_**not **_**have been in league with the Order in chapter 9-however, he also hadn't joined **_**Voldemort**_** yet.**

***bangs head again***

**Instead, I'm saying he was simply interviewing for a post at Hogwarts when Dumbledore got Remus' Patronus in chapter 9-that event does not follow the timeline of the events of the prophecy either-for the purpose of the story, though, I feel like it makes sense in **_**my**_** world of HP. **

**Ok, so to clear things up before you guys read on-Snape joined the Death Eaters a week after having helped save Peter, and has not had any contact with Dumbledore since. I've also jumped ahead to speed up the plot-so be warned, things are about to get **_**extremely **_**angsty-in this, and upcoming chapters. (****Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from **_**Deathly Hallows, **_**btw)**

**Apologies for the long note-hope you all enjoy! Many thanks again for those of you who continually review, I appreciate it a lot. =) **

_**

* * *

**_

10 months later....

"So, Severus...my slippery friend...what did you hear?"

Lord Voldemort's voice is a cold, dangerous hiss, and though his face remains devoid of all emotion, Snape can't manage to fully suppress the chill that runs down his spine.

"The prophecy, My Lord, tells of a child with the power to...vanquish you...born to parents who have...defied you thrice...born as the seventh month approaches..." Snape pauses, intensely aware of the fact that he cannot provide his Master with any more information on the prophecy-he can do without feeling the wrath of Voldemort tonight, he thinks ruefully.

"Is that it?" Voldemort asks quietly, his scarlet eyes burning into the figure before him.

"My Lord, that was all I managed to hear...Dumbledore became aware of my presence and threw me from the building..." He looks up to meet the eyes of Voldemort then, before continuing. "Forgive me, Master, I hope I have not failed you..."

At this, Voldemort gives a high pitched laugh, though it is noticeably lacking in any kind of humour. "No, you have not failed me, Severus Snape...though perhaps next time you would do better not to be caught listening at keyholes, hmm?" he says warningly.

Snape merely bows his head in acknowledgement, waiting for his Lord to continue.

"You, Severus, have provided me with _just_ enough information to prevent this _prophecy,_" he spits, "from coming to pass. You have pleased Lord Voldemort greatly tonight...you shall be rewarded, rest assured of that fact."

"...Till then," he hisses with a wave of his hand, "you are dismissed."

With another nod, Snape rises, a strange mix of pride and foreboding settling in his heart. If he has pleased his Master so greatly, why does he suddenly feel as though he has betrayed his heart?

* * *

"My faithful Death Eaters," says Voldemort, a truly evil grin lighting up his face, "what news of the newborns?"

Bellatrix watches with slight jealously as Lucius stands, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelit room. Had she not been so busy attempting to recruit the Giants to their Cause, _she _would be the one providing her Master with such crucial information-of this, she is sure. Instead, she has to now bear Lucius' silent smugness, though she suspects a screaming two month old and a furious Narcissa at home will evaporate his good mood quite quickly. Slightly happier at the thought of her baby sister treating Lucius like a house elf, she listens intently as her brother-in-law speaks.

"My Lord, I have learned of two babies born at the end of July-both to parents who are members of the Order." A satisfied gleam shines in his eyes as he continues. "Both are also believed to be boys, My Lord-one a Longbottom-pureblooded, the other, a Potter-and a half-blood," he says, disgust creeping into his voice.

From Bellatrix's left, she hears the faintest intake of breath, and out of the corner of her eye, she notices that the Snape boy has turned deathly pale. Frowning slightly, she watches him for another few moments, a strange niggling in her gut. There is something about the boy that she just does _not _fully trust...no matter _how_ many times Lucius has vouched for him...

"My Lord, there is, however, a problem..." Lucius says quietly. "Both families appear to _also_ know of the prophecy...attacking them may be more difficult than we thought..."

A low murmur arises from the rest of the Death Eaters, and with a nod of respect toward Voldemort, Lucius takes his seat at the table once more.

"So..." Voldemort hisses. "The boy prophesied to be my downfall is a half-blood..." He speaks almost to himself, and appears to not even hear the growing murmurs of his followers. "The Potter boy is the one I shall kill," he says, turning his attention to them once more.

Though Bellatrix admires her Master's sharp decisiveness, she cannot help but be surprised by his immediate dismissal of the other threat. Hesitantly, she speaks, looking Voldemort straight in the eye.

"My Lord, forgive me...but what of the other boy? What if is the Longbottom child to whom the prophecy refers?"

"Questioning my decisions, Bellatrix?" Voldemort asks icily. "You forget yourself!" he thunders.

Dropping her gaze sharply, Bellatrix murmurs a hasty apology, shame burning high in her cheeks. Had she been less embarrassed, her quick eye would certainly have noticed the shaking form of Severus Snape further down the long table.

"The _Potter_ boy," Voldemort repeats dangerously, "is the boy I want." He looks around threateningly at his Death Eaters, scarlet eyes burning furiously.

"_Find the Potters." _

* * *

"My Lord, may I speak to you about the...Potter situation?"

Severus' voice is shaky, scared, even, and it is with mild surprise that Voldemort regards his servant.

"Have you learned of their location?" he asks interestedly, watching the other man's face closely.

"No, My Lord...I have not, but I..." Severus' voice actually breaks slightly, and with a twinge of impatience, Voldemort speaks once more.

"Speak properly, Severus, or leave my presence. I don't have time for your stuttering," he snaps, twirling his wand as a slight threat.

"I have come to ask you to spare Lily Ev-Potter's life, My Lord," Severus says in a rush.

"The Mudblood?" Voldemort asks curiously. "Why should I spare such filth, Severus? Enlighten me..."

"At Hogwarts, My Lord, I confess...I desired her...I still do..." Severus meets his eyes hesitantly then, a sheen of sweat upon his forehead. "If you were to spare her..."

"You would _what_, Severus?" he chuckles loudly. "Take her as your wife? Would you comfort her through her grief, knowing it was you who brought about the deaths of her family?" he sneers maliciously. The whole idea is entirely ludicrous, and Voldemort is genuinely amused by the pleading nature of one of his Death Eaters.

"My Lord, I beg you, please..._spare her_, and I will never again make a request from you...I have been faithful, My Lord, I have done your biddi-"

"Enough," Voldemort hisses, and Severus immediately falls silent, his sallow eyes wide with pleading. Voldemort remains silent for a few moments, considering the figure before him. Severus has been loyal, yes-and has performed admirably in each mission he has been sent on. In short, Severus has quickly become one of his most trusted Death Eaters. Perhaps he deserves such a reward....?

"Very well, Severus, I will spare your little Mudblood pet..." he hisses slowly.

"Thank you, My Lord!" Snape exclaims, his thin lips curving into a wide smile.

"However," Voldemort continues, his scarlet eyes burning with malice, "if Lily Potter gets in my way..._I will kill her_, Severus."

Severus jerks his head in a half-nod of acknowledgement, and with a sneer, Voldemort waves him away. Sometimes he wonders if he's recruited Hufflepuffs instead of Slytherins...

* * *

Now that he is here and waiting for Dumbledore, Snape can't help but think of the punishment he will receive if Voldemort learns of his betrayal. Death will, if he's very lucky, be quick and painless. Bellatrix would certainly love to have a part in such torture, for he knows she doesn't trust him at all; "he practices Occlumency far too much for someone not playing traitor," she'd snarled to Lucius once, suspicion dancing in her black eyes. She was right of course, since a week earlier, he'd saved that useless Peter Pettigrew's life-and all because Dumbledore had asked him to help. But that had been before he'd joined the Death Eaters, and really, he'd simply been in the Three Broomsticks at the wrong time. Seeing Black and Lupin in the hospital had ignited a fury within him, and he'd thought it too long till he bore the Dark Mark on his forearm.

Panic encloses his heart in a vice-like grip, and whipping around, wand in hand, he looks in vain for the Headmaster. Suddenly a blinding, jagged jet of lit hits him in the chest, sending him to his knees in pain. His wand, meanwhile, flies from his hand, landing metres away on the grassy hilltop.

"Don't kill me!"

The words fly from his lips in a panicked rush, and looking round wildly, he catches sight of Albus Dumbledore right in front of him.

"That was not my intention," the old man declares, his face illuminated by the light of his wand. "Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?" His voice is cold, and truly, chills Snape to the bone.

"No-no message-I'm here on my own account!" he says desperately, his hair flying in his eyes with the intense wind.

"I-I come with a warning-no, a request-please-" He just feels like roaring at Dumbledore to hear him out, to let him say what he came here to say...to let him save Lily...

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore silences the winds around them, and looks at Severus with a mix of disgust and dislike.

"The prophecy-he thinks it means Lily Evans-her son! He's going to hunt her down-kill them all!" Sheer terror envelops Severus in its grasp, and it takes an immense effort for him not to break down entirely as he speaks.

"If she means so much to you," Dumbledore says slowly, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

With a growl of frustration, Severus snaps. "I _have_-I have asked him-"

"You disgust me," says Dumbledore, and despite being in the service of the Dark Lord, Severus has never heard so much contempt in any voice. Shrinking into himself slightly, he merely stares at the Headmaster pleadingly, willing him to save her.

"Hmm, I see...you do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Desperately, Snape looks at Dumbledore, at a complete loss for words. All he wants is Lily. Lily to be safe. Lily to be his...but if saving James Potter means saving Lily...so be it.

"Hide them all, then," he croaks. "The Dark Lord _already_ has people looking for them....use a Secret Keeper! Keep her – them- safe. Please." Defeated, he hangs his head, hiding his tears behind a curtain of dark hair.

"And what will you give me in return?" Dumbledore asks quietly.

Taken aback, Snape can only gape at the wizard. What _can _he give? "In – in return?" he asks startled, looking to Dumbledore for an explanation. When none comes, he thinks of Lily for a long time, of her son, of the fates he himself may have sealed. What will he give to save Lily? He doesn't have to dwell on _that_ question for long.

"_Anything." _

**A/N: next chapter will deal with Regulus' death...*sniff***


	19. Secrets and Lies

**A/N: So here we go! I hope I did this scene justice...I'm quite happy with it anyway! I come bearing a pretty long update since the next chap won't be up for a week or so due to college deadlines and exams :P**

**I really hope you all enjoy, much thanks for your continued reviews and thoughts =)**

* * *

Numbly looking at the Slytherin locket in the now empty basin, Regulus fleetingly wonders if death will be agonising, or if it will bring him any kind of peace. Another part of his brain argues that at eighteen, he shouldn't even be seriously contemplating his death at all. Deep down, he knows that destroying this Horcrux is worth whatever pain he faces-it may even undo some of the evils he committed during his servitude to the Dark Lord. As he collapses, he can't help but wonder if Sirius would be proud of him now. In his lifetime, Regulus frequently made the wrong decisions. This, he knows, is the most sensible he has ever made.

At his side, Kreacher is shaking with sheer terror at the sight of his dying Master.

"Switch the lockets," he manages to say, and with an agonised look at Regulus, Kreacher obeys, placing the fake locket in the basin.

"You need to destroy it, Kreacher," he murmurs, staring at the locket in the house elf's shaking hands.

The icy hands of death seem to touch him for an instant, and half maddened by the entire ordeal, he suddenly longs for his life to end.

"Go!" he slurs to the elf, wanting to spare Kreacher any further trauma. "And I forbid you from telling my family what happened here, understand?"

With a great surge of energy, he reaches out and grabs the elf's hand-perhaps to offer a mutual sense of comfort, perhaps to feel contact with a living being for the last time.

With a muffled wail, the elf disapparates, leaving Regulus to face death alone.

Sirius is the last thing he thinks of as his heart slows. He hopes that having been separated by fate in this life, that in the next life, they will be brothers once more. Alone in a cave, with that wish on his lips, Regulus Black welcomes and embraces death.

* * *

"BARTY!"

Bellatrix's shriek of frustration slices through Barty's thought s like a knife, and hurriedly, he focuses his attention on his surroundings, and his fuming mentor.

"That's the _third_ time you've failed to Imperio this mudblood,"she hisses angrily, gesturing to the cowering man at her feet. "The Dark Lord doesn't favour failures, Barty-and neither do I; I won't stand for your ineptitudes as _my_ protégé, so c_oncentrate_!"

The mingled disappointment and anger in Bella's voice literally makes Barty wince. He hates failure in any situation, but the thought of failing Bella and the Dark Lord is truly awful. Yet try as he might, he _cannot _concentrate, and he has Regulus to thank for the distraction, he thinks ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he mutters quietly, absentmindedly noting the tapping of her wand against her thigh-a sure sign of her impending explosion, he has come to learn.

"_Sorry_?" she mocks, a sneer curving her full lips. "Being sorry doesn't make great followers or win wars, Barty. What's bothering you, hmm?" she asks impatiently.

"Well," he considers, "it's just that-never mind, I'm probably overreacting."

"Ooh," she coos. "Is little Barty having girl problems? What-Can't get her into your bed?" she asks, grinning lasciviously. "Or is it that you're not sure what to do with her in your bed?" she cackles gleefully.

"No," he snaps defensively, a slight blush colouring his features. "It's Regulus-I haven't seen or spoken to him in over a week-he hasn't been answering my owls, and Walburga seems to think he's on some important mission for the Dark Lord..."

He looks to Bella for confirmation of this, and getting none, continues. "It's not _like_ Regulus, Bella-while you were recruiting, he missed two meetings and he's been so strange lately...almost as if he doesn't care about the Cause anymore," he says anxiously. "I'm worried," he says finally.

A stranger would declare Bella largely unaffected by the news, but from having spent so much time in her company and observing her closely, Barty can effectively read her mannerisms quite well. He recognises the slight tensing of her jaw and the pursing of her full lips as indications of her concern, while the narrowing of her black eyes reveals she is carefully considering each word she has just heard. Though she may scorn displays of affection, and certainly will never admit it out loud, Barty knows Bella is deeply fond of her cousin. His worry, therefore, is undoubtedly matched by hers.

"I'll sort it," she answers tersely, barely looking him in the eye; her brow growing increasingly more furrowed.

"Bella?" he asked concernedly, slightly alarmed by her unusual lack of a verbal response. "What're you going to do? Are you going to speak to the Dar-"

"I SAID I'll sort it," she screams angrily, hitting him with a stinging hex in her sudden fury.

Nursing his wound, Barty can only stare wide-eyed at his mentor, entirely taken aback by her violent reaction to his concerns.

Eyes blazing, she directs her wand toward their earlier victim, her steady hand a noticeable contrast to her fraying nerves.

"Since you can't seem to make adequate use of this filth," she says maliciously to Barty, "_I _will." Truth be told, Barty _almost _feels sorry for their victim considering the anger he is about to bear the brunt of...

"CRUCIO!" she yells loudly, pouring every ounce of her energy into the curse. The wild cries and shrieks of the man immediately reverberate throughout the room, and it is a true sign of Barty's worry that he doesn't enjoy watching Bella torture the Mudblood. She holds the curse till their victim loses his voice entirely, and with her temper sated only slightly, Bella finally ends his life with a leisurely wave of her wand.

"_That's_ how to use an Unforgivable," she spits at Barty, her chest heaving with exertion.

Slightly dumbfounded, Barty can only nod in reply. He has seen Bella torture many victims, of course, but never in such a desperate, needy, sort of way. It has alarmed him, actually, to see her in such a vulnerable state.

"Just find him, Bella," he pleads, his voice cracking slightly; taking in the trembling of her adrenaline fuelled body.

For a single instant, her feature soften, and an indiscernible emotion flickers in her eyes. As quickly as it comes, it is gone, and set in its place, the familiar sight of her assured confidence.

"_Practice_," she warns threateningly, turning on her heel to disapparate, her eye giving the merest hint of comfort as she leaves.

* * *

"It's too obvious, they'll know it's me," Sirius mutters aloud.

Peter nervously looks from Sirius to James, an anxious feeling gnawing at his gut. The War has gotten far too close for comfort, and he still remembers _exactly_ how it felt to be so near death...at the hands of Sirius' cousin, no less. To put it simply, Peter, for lack of a better word, is _terrified._ He knows with great certainty, that if anyone is to die out of the Marauders, it will be him-next to Sirius and James, he is a poor dueller, and Remus, though quiet and serious, is quite a formidable opponent in his own right. Truth be told, he often questions his Gryffindor status, for bravery is not something Peter has in spades. He is slowly coming to realise this, and despite his intense fear of _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, _Peter can't help but think it'd be nice to be on the winning side of the war.

"Then who do you suggest, Padfoot?" James asks quietly, one eye closely focused on Lily and Harry in the corner. "Remus?"

"No!" Sirius blurts, before he can help himself. "Not Remus," he states more quietly.

Slightly confused, Peter watches as a silent look of understanding passes between the two.

"Peter," Sirius says suddenly, turning to face him properly. "It has to be you, Peter, you have to be the Secret Keeper."

"Me?!"

Peter's surprise manifests itself into a high pitched squeak, and growing steadily more alarmed by the second, he looks from one Marauder to the other.

"But what a responsibility!" he says nervously, sweat prickling the palms of his hands. "Surely _you _are better equipped for this task, Sirius!"

"Look, Wormtail!" Sirius says impatiently. "Voldemort is, as we _speak, _looking for James, Lily and Harry. I'm the _obvious_ choice for Secret Keeper-that's why we need someone else!"

"He's right, Peter," James adds. "We need someone we can trust completely-Harry's life depends on it."

As though he realises his name has been mentioned, Harry gives a gurgling laugh, wrapping his chubby fingers around Lily's hair in glee.

"That means you, Peter," James continues. "I know it's a lot to ask, what with the risk of, oh, torture and death..." he says dryly, amidst a bark of laughter from Sirius, "but I also know you're up to the task," he grins confidently.

"Well...in that case..."Peter says weakly.

Looking at the expectant faces of his friends, Peter silently thinks that _he _knows he's not up to the task.

* * *

"My Lord?"

With a frown, Voldemort regards the cautious figure of one of his most loyal followers. Her shaky voice, coupled with her dishevelled robes and shadowed eyes is certainly an unusual countenance for one with a confident demeanour like Bella's. Slipping into her mind, he is equally surprised to find her mind shields up.

Curiosity peaked, he signals her to speak with a wave of his hand; watching her closely.

"My Lord," she repeats, twisting her hands slightly, "I have come to ask you about Regulus."

Noting the tinge of anxiousness in her voice, Voldemort merely nods, waiting to hear her question. He has learned that when in this state, it is often more productive to simply let Bella speak without interruption.

"I don't know where he is," she blurts out. Falling to her knees before him, she looks at him with a faint air of desperation. "No one has seen him for over a week, My Lord-I fear he may have been captured by the Order...Walburga told me that he said you had given him a task to perform...that was the last time she saw him, Master..."

"If he had been captured by the Order, Bella, my spy would have told me," he replies coldly.

Inwardly, he is slightly troubled by the defection of Regulus Black-only recently he had acquired use of the boy's house elf...around the same time Regulus seems to have disappeared, it seems. However, to show confusion at the boy's absence would be to demonstrate a poor control of his followers....as much as Voldemort regards Bella in high esteem, she is not worth looking weak for... his ignorance of her cousin's whereabouts therefore, must not be revealed-even if to Bella.

"As it is, your cousin had grown weak," he replies disdainfully. "He professed a desire to leave my ranks, Bella, and withdraw his servitude entirely."

Truly aghast, Bella begins to speak, but he cuts her off with a warning glare.

"I have no time for traitors, as you know, and how could I be sure that he wouldn't have run off to Dumbledore and told him some of our secrets?"

Bella shakes her head vigorously in response, clearly dying to protest on behalf of her family's honour.

"Perhaps young Regulus simply wanted to be more like his brother than you, Bella..." he says maliciously. "Another bad seed on the Black family tree then..."

"NO!" she finally bursts out. "Regulus is loyal, My Lord, He believes in our Cause-he wou-"

"Regulus is dead," Voldemort states flatly, watching as Bella's face falls. "He wished to leave the Death Eaters and would have betrayed me."

Standing as though carved from stone, Bella is utterly silent as she takes the blow from each of her Master's lies.

"His death was a necessary one," he hisses coldly, "and I do not regret it."

Shock and grief shining in her eyes, Bella merely nods, keeping her lips tightly pressed together.

"I trust you do not mourn the death of such a traitor, Bella?" he asks slyly, waiting almost amusedly for her reaction.

Swallowing slightly before she speaks, when Bella looks up, her eyes are dull and almost lifeless. Managing to quell the wave of emotions swirling within her, she looks Voldemort dead in the eye.

"No, My lord," she responds with a quiet sense of determination. "I do not mourn him."

Slytherins, after all, are renowned for their ability to lie with ease.

**A/N: Review-in memory of Regulus Black =(**


	20. The woes of Narcissa Malfoy

**A/N: First of all, MAJOR apologies for how long it's taken to get this chapter up-college and family stuff has been taking up all my free time *scowls***

**Thanks again to all those who reviewed and added this to their alerts! As always, I love hearing what you think, so if you've a minute to spare, let me know!**

**This one's for Ella Rosier since she's been my faithful reviewer from day one =) **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy doesn't consider herself an emotional person in the least. This, she muses, is probably one of the greatest differences between her and Bella, who can barely reign in her vociferous nature at the best of times, and even less so lately, since she joined the Death Eaters. True, there are certainly some things that ruffle Narcissa's feathers, and many things make her crinkle her nose in distaste, but it takes something of great importance for her to get truly upset. Such a refined nature, however, doesn't necessarily mean that the youngest Black sister won't lash out when angered...though only behind closed doors, of course-propriety must be maintained. That's why she is waiting for Lucius to return _home_ before giving him a piece of her mind.

It wasn't just that he had left the Parkinson's dinner party without her. That would have been bad enough in itself-making excuses for her husband's sudden absence isn't something she appreciates doing; no matter how smoothly such excuses can be made. No-it was that he had stuck her with that simpering twit Patricia Parkinson, who seemed to think Narcissa was entirely incapable of socialising on her own. To make matters worse, the woman had spent most of the night prattling on and on about how Draco and Pansy would "become such good friends, or even more!" she'd giggled incessantly, till Narcissa had genuinely considered sending an owl to Bella to dispose of the woman.

Combine that with the fact that she had arrived home to a screaming Draco and a pathetic house-elf, and Narcissa is certainly in an exceptionally foul mood. Every night this week, Lucius had left in the middle of the night; clutching that foul tattoo of his with a hiss of pain-twice they'd been in a rather _uncompromising _position when it had burned, and despite her frustrated protestations, he'd still left, promising he'd be back soon. She doesn't like the thought of her marriage being the second priority in Lucius' life...as cliché as it sounds, he'd always promised her that she'd come first, no matter what. But that was before the war had began, and since then, she has known nothing but worry and fear-fear that her husband will be captured or killed, fear that she will become a widow, but more than _anything, _fear that her son will grow up without a father. Life shouldn't be like this, surely? Amidst the decadence and luxury of their lives, shouldn't there be a great sense of happiness? Narcissa Malfoy is used to satisfaction in _all _areas of her life, and Lucius' servitude to the Dark Lord is leaving her increasingly unsatisfied.

The swish of her husband's travelling cloak informs her of his presence in their room. Still angry, she remains seated at the vanity, combing her hair in an effort to lower her rising blood pressure.

"You're up late," he remarks, glancing at her as he begins to remove his cloak.

Merely cocking an eyebrow, she continues brushing out the curls she'd donned for the night, ignoring him for the time being.

"I see," he murmurs. "You're angry that I left then?" He raises an eyebrow of his own, considering her reflection for a moment.

"It's not as if I can ignore Him! What would you have me do, Narcissa?" he asks, a slight weariness creeping into his voice.

At this, her calm exterior shatters, and whipping around in the seat, she throws her hairbrush at him as hard as she can.

"I'd have you be my husband!" she snaps. "Be the man I married! Be a father to your son!" She stands, and moves closer to Lucius, punctuating each sentence with a poke to his chest.

"Do you think I _want_ to lie awake at night wondering if you're lying dead somewhere? Do you think that's _fair_?"

"Fair?!" he repeats angrily. "No, Narcissa, it's not fair-life isn't fair."

At this, she scoffs, and with the trademarked Black toss of the head, moves to exit the room altogether. Lucius, however, reaches out and grabs her by the arms, handling her more roughly than he has done in his entire life.

"What I do," he hisses, "I do for _us_-you, Draco, and I. I have a loyalty I _cannot_ ignore, Narcissa-as much as I often want to-I cannot! My obedience is our survival, don't you understand that?"

"Lucius," she whispers, slightly terrified by the way he's treating her. "Lucius, you're hurting me, my arms-"

"You have to understand," he continues, ignoring her whispers. "You have to know that even if you're not in the ranks, your support is crucial-and not just for appearances sake. _I _need your support, even if you don't always want to give it, I _need _it."

She gives a silent nod as he lessens his grip on her arms, still holding her close to him. "I love you and Draco more than anything, Narcissa. Nothing is more important to me than you."

For a moment, the two simply stare at each other, each wondering what is left to be said. Perhaps, Narcissa, thinks, Bella _is _right, actions _do _speak louder than words, and standing on her tiptoes to reach her husband, she presses a searing kiss to his lips.

For the first time that week, Lucius spends the whole night in his bed, his limbs entangled with that of his wife, who for now, at least, feels somewhat content in her life.

* * *

"My, my, Bella...don't you look tired! Rodolphus keep you up late? Or was it one of your other conquests, hmm?"

Normally Bella would engage Lucius in such malicious banter, and usually, emerge intellectually superior. Today is not a normal day.

"Stupefy," she casts non verbally, hitting her brother-in-law directly in the chest before he even registers the movement of her wand. Dimly noting the loud thump his body makes, she looks around for her sister, her nerves growing increasingly more frayed.

"Cissy!" she shrieks, abandoning all pretence. "CISSY!"

"Bella?" her sister asks surprised, appearing in the doorway of the parlour, "what are you doing here so early? Weren't we meant to meet at 12?"

Glancing around her raven-haired sibling, she catches sight of her husband; sprawled out rather gracelessly on the floor.

"Bella," she says slowly, her cool tone dropping the room temperature a few degrees, "why in the name of Merlin is Lucius _unconscious_?"

"He was annoying me," Bella snaps, regarding her brother-in-law with a dismissive wave of her wand.

"Be-"

"Narcissa," she interrupts impatiently, "I need to talk to you." Considering her baby sister for a moment, she continues, softening her tone. "It's serious, Cissy."

Within an instant, all the colour seems to drain out of Narcissa's cheeks, and moving somewhat unsteadily, she sits upon one of the plush couches, gazing at her sister with a mixture of fear and knowing.

"What happened?" she croaks, knowing by the rarity of her sister's solemn demeanour that it has to be something quite awful. Her worst fears were confirmed when Bella, after a long pause, finally speaks.

"It's Regulus, Cissy...he's...he's dead."

The words sound hollow even to Bella's own ears, but she has cried more than she would normally allow herself to... especially when her tears are over a traitor.

"Dead?" Narcissa whispers, a hint of disbelieving entering her voice. "He can't be...he's only-he's only eighteen, Bella," she manages, horror etched all over her pretty face. An indiscernible emotion flickers in her eyes-accusation? Betrayal?

"How did it happen?...Lucius mentioned nothing about Regulus having a mission or a battle..." she says, feeling entirely lost. Suddenly a thought occurs to her. "Couldn't you have protected him?" she asks quietly, searching her sister's face for answers. "Wasn't he your responsibility?" She cocks her head then, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. Bella's silence merely adds to her growing anger. "Or did _you_ complete the order to murder your own blood for your Master?" she sneers.

"Don't you pin this on me, Narcissa!" snarls Bella in reply. "I had nothing to do with his...death." Breathing heavily, she regards her weeping younger sister for a few moments, grief and confusion thick in the air.

"Why?" Narcissa asks hoarsely after a while. "Why did he have to die?"

"He tried to leave the Dark Lord's ranks and was killed," Bella states flatly, ignoring the niggling feeling in her gut. Her Master is right about Regulus, she scolds herself mentally. If he was a traitor, he deserved to die...

"The youngest Black," her fair haired sister murmurs suddenly. "The last of the tree."

"What?" Bella asks sharply, a dangerous look entering her eye. "What did you say, Cissy?"

For a moment, Narcissa simply looks at her, eyes narrowed in reaction to her sister's anger. Bella, meanwhile, stands as though carved from ice, fire burning in her dark eyes.

"I _said_," Narcissa repeats quietly, "that he was the last branch of the tree." She looks away from Bella then, looking instead at her hands folded in her lap. She gives a humourless chuckle as she thinks more about their family, tears trailing over her porcelain skin. "I suppose it'll depend on whether or not Sirius has children...if not, the Black name dies," she muses. She looks back to Bella then, half anticipating a hex for mentioning Sirius at all.

"No woman would willingly touch that piece of filth," her sister spits furiously, red sparks flying from her wand as she speaks.

"I seem to remember a time when you thought him quite handsome, sister," Narcissa snarks with a perfectly arched eyebrow. "As I recall, you once considered him adding him to your list of conquests," she says; a smirk twisting her lips despite the gravity of the situation. She knows well, of course, that this is the surest way of infuriating her sister. Truth be told, Narcissa is looking for an outlet for her anger, and Bella _never _lets someone insult her without comment.

"Don't," Bella hisses angrily, "make the mistake of thinking you can sass me Cissy." Twirling her wand in her hand for extra emphasis, a burning rage rises within her-a rage that Narcissa has never inspired. "Due to your grief, I'll excuse you for bringing up the blood traitor _once_, not twice," she warns dangerously.

"_Sass _you?!" her sister says icily. "_Who_ in the name of Merlin do you think you are, Bella?!" She stands, drawing herself up to her full height, and despite being inches shorter than her older sister, it is an imposing figure nonetheless.

"You come into _my _house, stun my husband, tell me my cousin is dead and expect me to be concerned with how I _speak _to you?!" she asks incredulously.

"I expect you to know better than to associate me with that TRAITOR!" shrieks Bella.

"Bella, he's our COUSIN!" screams Narcissa in frustration.

"He is no cousin of mine, Narcissa," growls Bella, tightening her grip on her wand. What has gotten _into _her sister?

"Who are we referring to now Bella? Regulus or Sirius?" her sister asks coldly.

Taken aback, Bella pauses for a moment, looking at the defiant face of her baby sister. With her cheeks slightly flushed and her jaw firmly set, she suddenly notices some of the typical Black features in Narcissa's face. It is only now, in the middle of one of their most heated arguments ever, that she realises her sister is not a complete carbon copy of their mother; she is not completely a Rosier in looks and personality. In spite of herself, Bella cannot help the rush of pride that courses through her body as she looks at her sister now.

"Not so quiet after all, are we Cissy?" she murmurs quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Narcissa merely cocks her head, slightly confused, but not altogether surprised, by her sister's sudden change in mood.

Before either of the sisters register the other's movement, the two have crossed the short distance between each other and are wrapped in a fiercely tight hug.

"I'm sorry," they say in unison, holding tightly onto each other.

"We're the last of the true Blacks, Cissy," Bella whispers firmly against her sister's hair.

At her words, Narcissa lets out a pathetic whimper, tightening her grip on Bella's robes. A sob escapes her as she leans against her sister for support, suddenly unable to hold herself up anymore. It is all too much, she thinks desperately. First Andromeda left, then Sirius, and now Regulus? She can't lose any more of her family-if she does, she's not sure she'll survive it.

As though she has heard Narcissa's thoughts, Bella gives a slight smile over her sister's shoulder. "Oh Cissy," she half-chuckles, I'm not going anywhere, you don't have to worry about me." When her sister continues to cry quietly, she becomes serious once more.

"I'll look after you, sister," she promises, tightening her grip on her sister protectively.

"It's you and I now Cissy," she murmurs. "You and I."

**Reviews are love.**


	21. To make a rat squeal

**A/N: So...this chapter came to me last night, and since I've hit a brick wall in my history essays anyway, I decided that I might as well write this instead!**

**On a different note, I'd appreciate some more reviews-I haven't been receiving as much feedback as I would **_**like**_**, particularly in the last couple of chapters, so...REVIEW! ;)**

**Hope you all enjoy! **

* * *

_One month later...September, 1981._

"Time to call the Dark Lord," the silver haired man sneers. Through his swollen eyes, Peter can only vaguely recognise him-Malfoy? Yes, that's it-Lucius Malfoy.

"You didn't really think you could follow me without consequences, did u?" coos a horribly familiar woman's voice.

Bellatrix Lestrange-_why _of ALL the Death Eaters he could have followed did he have to pick the most sadistic? Yet at the time, she had seemed the most obvious way for him to find the Dark Lord. He couldn't very well have just wandered about Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley inquiring if anyone had seen any Death Eaters or Voldemort, now could he? He probably hadn't, he muses now, thought through his plan properly. He'd simply lurked around Knockturn Alley for a few nights, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bellatrix, and if and when he saw her, he'd decided to simply ask her to take him to the Dark Lord. Unfortunately for Peter, he hadn't realised that in the process of following Bellatrix, he himself was being closely watched by the witch's brother in law. Lucius Malfoy.

"He was _following_ you?" growls another voice, and though it takes great effort for him to turn his head, Peter sees who has spoken. Rodolphus Lestrange.

Within seconds, the man moves toward Peter, a look of extreme fury on his face. Luckily for Peter, Lucius stops him seconds before he reaches him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Rodolphus," he says smoothly, "Bella and I have already hurt the filth enough." Looking down upon Peter, he continues, with a cold chuckle. "We need him to stay alive for the Dark Lord, after all," he smirks.

With a snarl of frustration, Rodolphus assents, settling for spitting on Peter's body.

"I do _so_ appreciate the gesture though," Bellatrix drawls, winking at her husband.

"Why in the name of Merlin was he following you?" he asks hotly, gazing down at Peter with narrowed eyes. "Surely even this fat lump knows how stupid it is following a Death Eater."

"You know," Bella says slowly, "I don't think we thought to ask, did we Lucius? Oh well! I just never could resist playing with my food," she says dramatically. She smiles cruelly at Peter then, and he literally feels his skin crawl with terror. "I always was more of an 'ask questions later girl' I suppose," she concedes with a grin.

"Well," Lucius smirks, " I hardly think he was following you just to keep an eye on your..." He casts a sidelong glance at Rodolphus, malicious amusement shining in his grey eyes, "...derriere, Bella," he continues. "It's hardly something a man would risk death for, after all," he says mockingly.

Looking mildly offended, Bella raises an eyebrow at his words. "They would, and they _have_," she counters, looking at Lucius pointedly.

"Enough!" Rodolphus snaps, glaring daggers at Lucius. "Why were you following my wife, filth?" he asks Peter dangerously, kicking him in the ribs for good measure.

With a whimper of pain, Peter curls himself into more of a ball. In this instant, he is almost considering fleeing in his rat form, but the thought of Bella's deadly aim makes his human form all the more appealing.

Wheezing slightly, he struggles to coherently get some words out. Sheer terror and pain from his earlier torture, however, makes speaking clearly a considerably difficult feat.

"I w-want to...to join the Da-Dark Lord," he stutters, new beads of perspiration breaking out on his skin. As he expects, his request is met with great amusement from the Dark Lord's most hardened followers.

"_YOU?!_" Bellatrix cackles wildly, her black eyes gleaming with mirth and glee. "What makes you think a pathetic twit like _you_ could ever be useful to the Dark Lord?" Even the normally detached Lucius is laughing appreciatively; clearly enjoying watching Bella ridicule Peter.

"I don't know, Bella," Rodolphus says smoothly, moving away from Peter toward his wife. "Maybe we could use him as bait?" He draws his wand, running it up and down Bella's arm lightly as he speaks. "Draw some Order members into a trap, perhaps?" he asks seductively, an excited gleam entering his eye at the thought of such a battle.

"Hmm..." Bella considers. "Not a bad idea...not bad at all," she says thoughtfully, her eye roving over her husband's muscular form interestedly. "I certainly wouldn't mind meeting that leper Moody in a fight..." she says with a wicked grin.

"Perhaps," Lucius interrupts coldly, "we should consult the Dark Lord before making any concrete plans." Ignoring Bella's resentful scowl, he draws up his sleeve, pressing a finger to his Mark; and though a slight wave of relief washes over Peter that _someone_ might finally hear him out, deep down, he is still utterly terrified.

Moments later, Voldemort appears in a wisp of black smoke, looking extremely annoyed at having been called.

"This had better be worth my while, Lucius," he hisses threateningly. His anger, however, evaporates almost entirely when he catches sight of Peter on the floor. "Who have we here?" he asks, a malicious smirk etched on his face.

"My Lord," Bella begins excitedly, "the Pettigrew boy I told you about, attempted to follow me tonight, however I captured him-with Lucius' help," she concedes grudgingly, nodding toward her brother in law. "It appears that he wishes to join your ranks, Master," she says with a mad giggle.

"Indeed?" Voldemort asks amusedly, slight curiousity entering his scarlet eyes. "Speak then, Peter Pettigrew, and tell me why I shouldn't let Bella torture you to death."

At his words, Peter can't manage to fully suppress the violent shudder that courses through his body. He needs only to recall their last encounter to imagine the pain she'd cause him. Bella, for her part, appears positively thrilled by the idea, looking at Peter as though he is nothing but a piece of meat.

With great effort, Peter pushes himself onto his knees. "My L-Lord," he says nervously, keeping his eyes cast downward, "I could be of gr-great service to you."

"Look at me," Voldemort commands threateningly, and instantly, Peter lifts his head, meeting the scarlet eyes before him.

"Continue," he hisses, with a wave of his spidery hand.

"I-I come to you to help you, to join your-your side," Peter says in a rush, mentally cursing himself for his inability to speak calmly.

"_Help_ me?" Voldemort echoes mockingly. "What makes you think I need your help, you snivelling wreck of a man? You come to me solely out of fear, do you not?"

In the back of his mind, a voice tells Peter not to do this-not to betray his closest friends, not to hand them over to a wizard who will certainly kill them...but perhaps the Sorting Hat made a mistake in sorting him into Gryffindor, for what he's about to do is the most cowardly thing in the world.

"Your silence isn't entirely convincing," Voldemort says coldly, "I suggest you speak, and rather quickly as well, Pettigrew." He waves a hand toward Bella, who is currently pacing back and forth; eyes hungry and burning, as though she can sense death is on the horizon. "Bella's getting rather impatient, it seems," he says, a high pitched laugh echoing around the room.

"I can give you the Potters," Peter says in a rush, his self-hatred growing with each passing second.

At his words, the four other figures in the room grow still, each watching him with a mixture of triumph and wariness.

"How would _you _know where they are?" Lucius asks curiously, looking to Voldemort for permission to speak.

Nodding her head at Lucius' question, Bella eyes Peter suspiciously, doubt flickering in her black eyes.

"From the information we've gathered, My Lord, my blood traitor of a cousin is the Potter's Secret Keeper...not this _lump_," she says disdainfully, dismissing Peter with a wave of her wand. "He lies Master! Let me kill him," she asks excitedly.

"No!" Peter squeaks, wincing as Bella fixes her glare upon him. "I _am_ the Secret Keeper-no one else knows except for the Potters and Sirius...it was S-Sirius' idea-he's just a d-decoy! He said no one would suspect me...he thought it would be safer," he finishes lamely.

"If you _are_ the Secret Keeper," Voldemort hisses, "then where arethe Potters?"

A long moment passes by before Peter speaks, and he knows that he's tempting fate by keeping Voldemort waiting. Indeed, Voldemort seems to think the moment has lasted too long, and decides to end it.

"Rodolphus, Lucius, loosen his tongue," he commands languidly. Noting Bella's disappointment, he chuckles humourlessly. "You shall have your fun if Pettigrew needs _further _persuasion, Bella," he hisses.

As Lucius and Rodolphus step forward, Peter finally speaks, fresh panic rising in his heart. "Godric's Hollow," he says hoarsely, blinking away the tears that are blurring his vision.

"You'll find them in Godric's Hollow," he repeats quietly, noticing the satisfied smile that has broken out over Voldemort's face.

"Very good, Peter," he says mockingly, "you have pleased Lord Voldemort greatly with such important information."

Peter gives the faintest sigh of relief, and tries valiantly to ignore the disgusted look Bella is sending his way.

"However," Voldemort hisses, noting the repulsion on Bella's face before he continues, "you are clearly in dire need of a lesson in what it means to be _truly_ loyal."

"My Lord?" Peter stammers nervously.

"I think," Voldemort continues dangerously, "that Bella would prove an excellent teacher, don't you Rodolphus? Don't you, Lucius?" he asks, smiling as the men nod, smirks on their lips.

"You see, Peter," Voldemort says coldly, "you need a taste of what will happen if you ever betray me as you have your friends tonight," he threatens. Nodding to Rodolphus and Lucius, he smiles indulgently toward Bella. "We shall leave you two alone," he says with an evil grin.

As the rest of the men disapparate, Peter's terrified eyes lock with Bella's. In this instant, he is nothing but a traitorous rat, while she looks, for all the world, like the cat who has just gotten the cream.


	22. Checkmate

**A/N: I know it's been a ridiculously long time since my last update, so my sincere apologies for that. My only excuse is a lack of time-college, exams, assignments, Xmas shopping...watching the Alice in Wonderland trailer repeatedly....;)**

**But, I have holidays for another week, so updates will be more frequent, hopefully! This is an early Xmas present for those of who have reviewed consistently-I really appreciate it =D**

**Hope you all enjoy! Merry Christmas =)**

* * *

_October 15__th__, 1981._

"My friends," Voldemort says, "I have gathered you here tonight to share some good news with you."

From his left, he notices Bellatrix shift forward in her seat; her eyes alight with an eagerness he has become quite familiar with. Lucius, at his right, meanwhile, wears a smug smile-as do many others at the table. Crabbe and Goyle are positively beaming, fiercely cracking their meaty knuckles in gleeful anticipation, while Severus merely twists his thin lips into a slight smile.

With a smile of his own, Voldemort continues, watching his Death Eaters closely for their reactions.

"Despite the best efforts of Dumbledore's Order," he spits, "our forces have proved themselves stronger, more powerful, and more deadly," he says meaningfully, looking at some of his servants in particular.

"The Wizarding world has come to fear the power of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, and soon, none will dare challenge our regime," he murmurs-perhaps more to himself than the listening group.

"_Victory_," he hisses triumphantly, "is finally within our reach."

At his words, Bellatrix lets out a loud cackle, while the rest of the assembled group chuckle and laugh amongst themselves; patting each other on the back.

"_However_," he says coolly, "before we begin making the final preparations to secure that victory, I thought perhaps we should...reinforce our...ideals on some of the more...reluctant masses."

A new energy seems to course through the group, and as one, fresh excitement seems to pump through their veins.

"Purge as you see fit, punish whom you please," he commands languidly, waving a hand through the air.

As his followers prepare to disapparate, he catches Bellatrix's eye, and speaks once more.

"Let no one say Lord Voldemort does not reward his followers."

* * *

"Because we _can't_, Bellatrix, _that's _why!"

"Oh for Salazar's sake, Lucius, stop being such a spoilsport!" she spits petulantly, glaring at her brother-in-law through narrowed eyes. "If I want to attack a few Aurors and members of that filthy Order, I bloody well _will_, and _you're_ not going to stop me!" she hisses triumphantly, twirling her wand through the air excitedly. Honestly, she thinks exasperatedly, sometimes Lucius can be _such _a bore.

"Bellatrix," Lucius begins-in that slow, superior tone she finds absolutely maddening at times-"if I didn't know better, I'd _swear_ you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff," he says mockingly. "Whether it's from too much Firewhiskey or a general lack of concentration, you seem to have lost your ability to count," he continues with a sneer.

"I haven't," she interrupts hotly, molten liquid heating her veins, "but in case _you've _forgotten, we were told to reward ourselves," she snaps, gesturing to the bloody figure at their feet pointedly.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan got to play with the whole _family_ of blood-traitors," she reminds him, scowling at the memory of the argument.

"Yes," Lucius says in a bored tone, "but I think you made fine use of the father, don't you?" he asks, looking at the torn face of their victim to prove his point.

I just don't see why we can't _celebrate _a little..." she pouts, changing tact altogether. Looking at Lucius from beneath her lashes, she continues, her tone changing to one of honey.

"Come on, Lucius," she purrs. "Don't you want to have a little more _fun_ before you leave? Maybe make the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow?"

She grins toothily then, watching the flickering of indecision across his face. If there's one thing she knows Lucius loves, it's reading about their night's work in the next day's Prophet...it appeals to his vanity, certainly his ego, she supposes; to carry out the work they do in secrecy, then read all about the havoc you wreaked the next morning with a sense of pride...she finds it quite entertaining herself, truth be told.

It works like a dream, just as she had known it would.

"Oh all right," he scowls in irritation, drawing his wand as he speaks. "But if Narcissa asks why I was so late coming home, I'm telling her it was _your_ fault," he warns sulkily, with a sniff.

"Last time, she threw a bloody hairbrush at me," he mutters with a slight wince, much to Bella's immense amusement.

"Well give her my regards then," she smiles, a sly look entering her eye, "and maybe ask for your balls back while you're at it, Lu_cissy_," she cackles darkly.

Oh, it fills her with a wonderful sense of pride to know that though her sister bears the name Malfoy, she certainly hasn't lost the Black spirit. Still chuckling at Lucius' cold fury, she begins walking out of the alleyway, keeping close to the dark recesses of the shadows.

"Bellatrix," her brother-in-law says warningly, his grey eyes narrowed to slits.

"Oh just wait here," she hisses, and casting a Disillusionment Charm over herself, she moves stealthily to the mouth of the alleyway, her quick eye picking out the Aurors patrolling the first half of the main street.

With a satisfied smirk, she waits till an Auror is mere metres away, and then hits him with a stunning spell, levitating his body back into the alleyway after her, where Lucius is waiting impatiently. She intends to make use of this Auror later, of this, she is certain.

"How many?" Lucius asks quietly, once she has removed the Charm from herself.

"Six," she whispers excitedly, fixing her hair inside her hood, "though one stunned leaves only five," she says dismissively.

"Plenty of time to play," she giggles excitedly to herself.

Lucius starts muttering about Narcissa and Draco once more, and as though something has suddenly gone off in her brain, Bella loses all patience entirely, her good mood evaporating as quickly as it came.

"Oh just go home!" she snaps. "You'll only slow me down, anyway," she sneers, poking his (admittedly, quite toned) stomach.

"You'll be captured," he hisses in response, rubbing the sore spot where her wand had been previously.

"No, I _won't_," Bella insists, a familiar fire thrumming through her body. "_You_ go home to your precious family, and while you're gone...I'll play with the Aurors," she says gleefully.

"Go!" she hisses excitedly, waving her hand at him, an idea worming its way through her mind as her eye roves over the dead body from earlier. By Salazar, this will be entertaining, she thinks, imagining the reactions her game will produce. If this were a game of chess, she is surely the Black Queen, and the hapless members of the Order are surely the pawns. She holds this thought tightly to herself, pride and adrenaline coursing through her body.

"Bellatrix," Lucius says, a slight patronising air evident in his tone, "you're _asking_ for trouble, and I don't much fancy having to explain to your sister and the Dark Lord why you're dead, or _worse_, holed up in a cell in Azkaban."

When she merely fixes him with a blank stare, he continues, exasperation wrinkling his forehead.

"There are _six_ of them, my dear sister-in-law," he says condescendingly, "and _one_ of you."

"I _know_," she coos with a determined gleam in her eye, pulling her mask on over her face, as she turns smartly on her heel.

"Hardly seems fair, does it?" she breathes.

* * *

"Alastor," Gideon Prewett says urgently, "it's Thompson-he's disappeared from his post."

Before the wizard can even respond to Gideon's words, a loud cackle bursts through the heavy silence of the air, making him feel as though his blood has been replaced with ice-water. Behind Gideon, another Auror-John Williamson-is hit by a flash of green light, and falls to the ground-his eyes open and unseeing. His murderer and fellow Auror, George Thompson, appears out of an alleyway, and moves to stand behind him, wand still outstretched; his face noticeably devoid of any emotion.

"THOMPSON!" Mad Eye roars, his magical eye having located the missing Auror too late. Whipping round in the direction Moody now faces, Gideon too, can only watch, horrified, as the young Auror succumbs to the Imperius Curse and proceeds to withdraw a knife from his pocket, slitting his own throat painfully slowly.

His eye now whizzing round furiously, Mad-Eye hurriedly accounts for the rest of the patrol unit. Now down to only four, it is imperative that they either locate the source of the threat, or send for support.

His decision is made for him.

An orange streak whizzes through the air, striking Marlene McKinnon straight in the back. She doesn't rise again.

Three left.

Casting Shield Charms around themselves, Mad-Eye, Gideon and Hestia Jones watch warily for the next sign of attack. Moody's eye eventually picks out a figure lying along the top of one of the surrounding buildings, heavily cloaked and masked.

"There," he commands quietly, moving his head almost imperceptibly toward the building, "on the roof."

The two quickly take note, and before Moody can prevent him from doing so, Gideon shoots a stunner at the figure, knowing the fall will be fatal anyway.

"Stupid!" Moody snaps furiously. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"It's what they deserved," Gideon spits bitterly, his eye wandering to the prone figures of their comrades lying in the street. When his gaze falls upon the masked body, his face hardens even more so.

"I'll unmask the scum," he says tightly.

Moody nods his assent and while Gideon approaches the unmoving figure, he instructs Hestia to apparate Marlene to St. Mungo's.

Keeping an eye on their surroundings, Moody begins hobbling toward the Death-Eater himself, till he reaches Gideon, who is simply staring coldly at the masked enemy. Noting Moody's presence at his side, he seems to awaken from his reverie and takes a deep breath. With anger brimming in his eyes, he reaches down and pulls off the mask quickly; each silently guessing who will be revealed.

The torn and bloody face of Edgar Bones, promient wizard and fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, is the last thing they expect to see.

_Checkmate._

* * *

**A/N: That Bella! So crafty =D I **_**know**_** I ended it on a slight cliff-hanger, but it seemed like an exciting place to stop! Next update will be up asap-hopefully around the 27****th****. **


	23. The Female Warrior

**A/N: Firstly, many thanks for such wonderfully insightful and encouraging reviews-they really were fabulous to read, as always, and I'm delighted that many of you have become as invested in this story as I am! It's great to hear you guys are enjoying Bella's antics too, since her shoes really are such fun ones to run around in! **

**Secondly, and to reassure some of you, I have absolutely ****NO**** intention of ending this story with the First Wizarding War-I **_**will**_** be writing the torture of the Longbottoms (as daunting as it feels now,) as well as the years in Azkaban, and with any luck, my last chapter will be Bella's final moments...as awful as that chapter will be to write. =(**

**Hope you all had a wonderful Xmas day, I give you this update earlier than expected-consider it a late Xmas present =D**

* * *

"Lucius?" Narcissa murmurs, turning on her side.

"I thought _you_ were asleep," he whispers teasingly, cocking an eyebrow at his wife. Pausing in the process of undressing, he waves his wand over one of the lamps in the room, smiling inwardly at the dainty way in which Narcissa blinks; adjusting her eyes to the sudden light.

"Some things are worth waiting up for," she grins suggestively, cocking an eyebrow of her own as she pulls the sheet down a few inches, exposing her pale skin to him.

"Is that so?" he asks, a sly smile appearing on his face. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he runs his hands lightly over his wife's legs, pulling the sheet down to expose her chest further.

"I'm glad I came home early then," he breathes, hooking an arm under her folded legs and pulling her into his chest.

"You should do it more often," she purrs, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt slowly. Nipping his neck as her hands rid him of his clothing, he smiles contentedly, certainly pleased to have left Bellatrix in Diagon Alley.

"If my welcome is like this every night, I just may consider it," he says, hissing suddenly as Narcissa's hands move to his belt-buckle.

"That can be arranged, Mr. Malfoy," she says seductively, pushing him onto the bed to straddle his hips properly, grinding her body against his teasingly; a lascivious grin on her face.

Biting back a groan at his wife's movements, Lucius reaches up to rid her of her nightgown entirely. A sharp gasp from Narcissa, however, causes him to pause momentarily, as he looks at her shocked face in confusion.

"What's wro-" he starts to ask, following her gaze to where her body rests upon his. Blood, shining scarlet even in the dim light, stains the end of Narcissa's silken nightgown-Edgar Bones' blood to be precise.

"Narcissa," he begins slowly, rubbing her wrist in an attempt to reassure her, even as she recoils from his touch. Moving off of him to sit on the opposite side of the bed, she simply shakes her head, and he knows she does not want to hear him speak right now.

Indeed Narcissa herself remains silent for a long moment, simply staring at hands, which have also been stained red.

"What did you do?" she asks brokenly, causing Lucius' heart to wrench painfully in his chest even as he curses himself for not thinking of cleaning the blood from his clothes. It is one thing for his wife to know what he does, and another thing entirely for her to literally see proof of it.

"Who did you kill?"

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. Lucius can't answer it-he won't.

"Was it a woman?" she asks quietly, looking at her hands as though they will tell her the answers she seeks.

"Was it a _mother_?"

She turns to face him as she speaks, her eyes shining in the dim light of the room. He knows she is thinking of Draco, thinking of a child being left motherless, and in a way, he supposes the Bones children are better off, that at least the entire Bones family are together in death. Though that will hardly soothe Narcissa's concerns, he thinks fleetingly.

"No," he answers shortly. "It was a man."

"A father then," she responds. It is a statement more than a question, he knows, but he nods his confirmation all the same, matching her gaze head on.

"And if you hadn't come home early...would you have killed more men tonight?"

He nods again-there is already quite literally blood on his hands, after all.

"Yes," he states plainly. "I _would_ have killed more men because that is what my service involves, but I choose to come _home_ instead, Narcissa, because you mean far more to me than murdering blood-traitors."

He grimaces slightly, thinking of Bellatrix's mocking words. "...though your sister certainly disagreed with my priorities...stupid...taking on those bloody Aurors by herself," he mutters to himself, not thinking properly.

"What?" Narcissa asks sharply. _"Aurors?" _

She moves off the bed like lightning, rounding on him as ferociously as her sister would.

"Bella is fighting Aurors _alone_?" she shrieks.

"Narcissa," Lucius says soothingly, moving to stand in front of his wife, "Bellatrix can look after herself, _believe_ me she's aptly named, and you know as well as _I _do how stubborn she can be."

"But what if she's captured?! Or killed?!" she hisses, panicked tears running freely down her face.

"You _left _her there, _knowing_ she would be fighting alone!" she yells accusingly, hitting him in the chest in her fury.

"Narcissa!" he snaps, grabbing hold of her flailing wrists, "as irritating as Bellatrix can be, she is a damn good dueller, and she _will be fine_," he repeats.

"She's as cunning as Salazar himself, and if you think she'd risk not being there to embarrass Draco in front of his first girlfriend...well, you don't know your sister as well as I thought you did."

He pulls his wife to his chest once more, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Come to bed," he murmurs, "and you can go visit Bellatrix first thing in the morning, hmm?"

Nodding slowly, she tightens her grip on his hands, and allows him to lead her to their bed. While undressing, he watches as she turns away from him, pretending not to hear the sob she can't quite muffle completely. Only Bellatrix can alleviate Narcissa's fears for her sister, he knows, and with a sigh, he pulls the sheet over the two of them, hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder.

Bellatrix Lestrange, he thinks, had better be alive in the morning.

* * *

Oh, how Bellatrix _wishes_ she could take a picture of their faces-it would truly be magnificent on recruitment posters for the Death Eaters, she giggles. They had taken the bait, just as she had expected, but the prize moment had been when they'd pulled the mask off of Edgar Bones' face. She can't _wait_ to tell her Lord about this.

Watching closely, and safely hidden on a rooftop under a Disillusionment Charm, she waits until Alastor Moody's eyes are both fixed upon the body at their feet before revealing herself. Gideon is certainly the weaker of the two remaining, and so, she decides, she will get rid of him first.

Disapparating and reappearing directly behind the elder Prewett brother, she has her wand against his throat before the echo of her apparition has even died away.

"My, my, my, Gideon," she purrs, "it seems as though you've just committed a murder." She smiles against his cheek then, taking his wand from his hand; keeping him tight against her body as a shield from Moody's wand.

"I hear you can go to Azkaban for that," she says with fake concern, looking to Moody mockingly.

With a growl of frustration, Moody makes a step toward her, wand outstretched.

"Ah, ah!" she scolds, frowning disapprovingly at his wand. "You two are the ones with blood on your hands," she says, looking pointedly at their stained fingertips.

"I wonder what the Daily Prophet would make of that," she wonders aloud. "'Auror patrol turns bloody'...'Aurors turn on their own in bloody battle'...'Aurors _fall _from grace, perhaps?'" she says with a evil smile.

When Moody continues to point his wand toward her, her tone turns colder.

"Put it down, _now_," she hisses, "or your friend Gideon, here, will die as scarred as yourself," she threatens, twisting her wand further into his throat as she speaks.

"Do it," she repeats dangerously slowly, "or watch another of your comrades die tonight."

With a snarl, Moody places his wand back into its holster, trying to reassure Gideon with a slight nod as he does so.

"That's better!" she grins, nipping Gideon's ear playfully, laughing as he twists in her grasp.

"What do you say..." she murmurs, looking at Moody, "...that we have a chat, just you and me, Prewett?"

"I'd rather chat with a Dementor," he hisses in response.

"...Well, that's a pity," she says slowly. "I _was _going to suggest that you go home to check if your brother's alive...but since you're not in the mood for a chat... he's _probably _not dead yet...maybe he wasn't home, hmm?..."

"Fabian?!" he gapes, increasing her struggle against her. "I'll kill you, you bi-"

"Yes, yes, you and Dumbledore's army, take a number, Giddy boy," she says in a bored tone.

With that, she stuns him suddenly, laughing as he falls in a heap at her feet.

"Just you and me, then Moody," she sneers, twirling her wand in anticipation.

"I've been waiting for this for a long time Lestrange," Moody says gruffly, taking his wand in his hand once more. "You've had this coming," he snarls.

"Then...what are you waiting for _now_?" she asks pointedly with a grin, and like that, their battle begins.

"Stupefy!" he roars, barely dodging the stunner her quick Shield repels at him.

"You'll have to try harder than that," she mocks. "I thought you were meant to be an Auror?" she laughs, even as she fires numerous curses at him.

"The Dark Lord taught me himself, Alastor!" she cackles. "He knows spells of such power that you, and your pathetic little Order cannot even _fathom_!"

With a growl, he strengthens his Shield and begins sending more deadly curses in her direction, all of which she manages to dodge and roll away from deftly, much to his growing sense of frustration. She's quick alright, he thinks bitterly, and certainly far more agile than he can possibly be with only one good leg. And though she is panting slightly and will undoubtedly be bruised in the morning, she certainly shows no sign of slowing down.

At one point, however, she spins away to avoid one blast of light and gets hit by another, as one spell of his finally manages to find its mark on her shoulder. With a small cry of pain as her skin is sliced open, blood pouring from the wound, she looks at him with more fire in his eyes than he had thought humanly possible, and in that instant, he knows she is one of the most formidable opponents he will ever meet.

"You'll regret that," she hisses through her pain, sending rapid jets of red lights toward him as she speaks.

Even as he blocks them, she disapparates, his magical eye following her movements as she reappears and disappears in quick succession around him. Eventually he is hit by one of the lights, and he crumbles to the ground as the overwhelming sensation of the Cruciatus curse comes upon him.

Looking at her, half-blinded by pain, he tries to force his fingers around his wand properly.

"Expelliarmus," he croaks, and suddenly, his pain stops as her wand sails from her grasp, landing a few feet away.

"You would dare steal _my_ wand!" she shrieks furiously, looking more offended than concerned by her current predicament.

"Filthy muggle-lover!" she screams, eyes wide like some kind of wild animal.

Struggling to his feet, Moody directs his wand toward her, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"It's Azkaban for you," he says hoarsely, even as she smiles wickedly.

"I don't think so, you _leper_," she spits, pulling another wand from her sleeve and cursing him instantly.

"Petrificus totalus!" she yells, hitting the wizened Auror square in the chest. With a triumphant cry, she watches, elated, as the wizard promptly keels over, as straight as a board.

"Accio wand," she says, smiling contentedly as her wand sails into her outstretched palm.

"Episkey," she says, temporarily stemming the flow of blood from her wound with a grimace. She strolls over to crouch beside Moody's body, tapping the wands against her thigh.

"This," she says gleefully, indicating one of the wands, "is your friend Gideon's wand." She flings it along the street, glaring hatefully at the unmoving Auror at her side.

"Disarming me of my wand is pointless if I have _another_," she spits, tapping her wand against Moody's face. "And anyway, attempting to rob me of my wand is _not _a very clever thing to do."

"Perhaps you need a reminder of that fact," she muses, an evil glint in her eye. Slashing her wand against his face, she smiles as blood pours from a deep gash.

"That's Dark Magic for you," she informs, "it'll be sure to leave a scar," she giggles. She runs her wand along his face slowly, thinking about her next course of action.

"I won't kill you," she says decisively, leaning down even closer so that her face is directly above Moody's.

"I want you to _live_," she spits hatefully.

"I want you to live to see your side _lose_, to see my Master conquer this world, and to know that his most faithful brought you to your knees tonight," she says slowly and deliberately.

"Think about that while you're waiting for someone to find you," she advises mockingly.

With a final glance at the bodies around her, at the destruction she has singlehandedly caused, Bella can only laugh wickedly as she casts the Dark Mark in the sky. In doing she catches sight of her constellation in the sky, near the swirling mass of green cloud. _'The Female Warrior'_ she thinks with a stab of pride, tasting the words on her tongue. Having just had a taste of absolute power, it's enough to make her go mad.

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter definitely won't be up for about a week or so since I have four college assignments to do over Xmas...does anyone feel like doing a Shakespeare essay for me?...No? ...Okay then...=(**

**...Review instead? =) **


	24. Love Hurts

**A/N: Apologies if the long delay in updating annoyed everyone-my internet died for about 3 weeks and I felt like **_**I **_**was dying! **

**Quick warning: Bella **_**might **_**seem a little OOC in this...apologies if she does, but I've always firmly believed that Narcissa was one of the few people Bella could be sensitive towards-before and after Azkaban, and I've also always thought even **_**after**_** Azkaban, Bella wasn't **_**completely**_** bonkers-if you think about the start of HBP, her questions for Snape are intelligent and lucid (if obsessive). **

**Next chapter will have some...Barty, Sirius...and...James and Lily...I think ;) **

**Aaaanyways...enough of my ramblings...hope you all enjoy-reviews would be great! =D**

* * *

_October 16__th__, 1981._

"Bella!"

Silence.

"Bellatrix!"

Silence.

"BELLATRIX!"

A red jet of light shatters the mirror above Narissa's head, and with a mangled shriek, she darts out of the way of the falling glass; whirling around accusingly once she has composed herself. Stretched out languidly on one of the parlour room couches, one arm thrown over her eyes, is Bellatrix, her outstretched wand still resting over the top of the couch in Narcissa's direction.

"It's a little early for a visit, Cissy," she mutters hoarsely, by way of greeting.

"It's a little early for a Stunner," Narcissa counters pointedly, narrowing her eyes at her sister; having momentarily forgotten the reason for her being there in the first place.

With a huff, Bella simply shifts her body around on the cushions, a slight hiss escaping her lips as she moves.

"I was _trying _to sleep," she hisses. "And besides," she sniffs, "if I'd wanted to actually stun you, we wouldn't be talking right now. So what is it?" she asks, perhaps slightly more harshly then intended.

A small smile twists her lips even as she yawns tiredly, her heavy-lidded eyes still tightly closed.

"Lucius' morning face too much to bear? Or was it just a bad dream?" she inquires mockingly.

A heavy silence fills the spacious room, one which even Bella doesn't appreciate in her tired state. Cracking open an eye, she lifts her arm to look at her sister properly, a strange curiosity washing over her. Having turned around, Narcissa now faces the broken mirror, her arms wrapped tightly around herself; shoulders rigid and stiff.

"Cissy?" she asks quietly, displaying far more sensitivity that anyone other than Narcissa would think her capable of.

"Cissy, what's wro-"

"I thought you were dead."

The words hang limply in the air, and for a single instant, Bellatrix almost feels like laughing at her sister's words. The utter seriousness with which Narcissa speaks, however, is enough to quell the sudden giggle bubbling in her throat, because this time is different to other instances in which she's had to reassure her sister-she can feel it in the air.

"Lucius told me you were fighting Aurors...on your _own_, and I thought you were going to die."

The words, though heavily laced with desperation, come out horribly slowly, chilling both sisters to the core. Neither of them make any move toward the other-it is simply as though the world has slowed to the single moment they find themselves in, as though Narcissa's words have robbed time of its essence.

"Lucius shouldn't have told you what I was doing," Bellatrix mutters, knowing that that is hardly the point.

Right now, however, she feels an indescribable need to blame _someone_ for her sister's anxiety, and Lucius-the peacock-loving-blabbermouth-is entirely at fault, she thinks with a scowl.

When Narcissa doesn't reply, she rises from the couch, each bruise and wound from her encounter with Alastor Moody searing painfully.

"Cissy," she starts, reaching out a hand to touch her sister, "I..." and for the first time in her life, words fail Bellatrix Lestrange, as her hand seems to stop moving of its own accord.

"I'm not dead," she finally says quietly, touching her sister's back as if to prove her point, slightly offended and surprised by how Narcissa flinches at the contact.

"I'm...here," Bellatrix offers, almost gently, Narcissa thinks, not removing her hand.

"I'm here, Cissy," she repeats in a whisper, her words of comfort forcibly reminding her of another instance, (a lifetime ago, it seems) when another Black sister left their world forever.

The words seem to strike the same vulnerable chord within Narcissa's heart, and with a quiet sob, her shoulders fall as she turns, collapsing against Bellatrix just as she did as a young girl, all those years ago.

"Aren't you afraid of dying, Bella?" she asks suddenly, her words muffled against her sister's shoulder.

Drawing back to look at her younger sister properly, Bellatrix finds she can only smile at the question. She remembers having asked their father the same thing when she was seven, and his answer has been ingrained on her brain ever since.

"Death," she murmurs, "comes for us all-sooner or later, but we, Cissy, we never truly leave! We remain in the skies, in history, and in memories. Even when we _do _die, we leave on! I in your blood, and you in mine and Draco's," she says, fiercely, holding Narcissa even more tightly.

"Don't you see?" she continues earnestly, "the only thing to be afraid of is dying in vain-dying without having lived and fought for something!"

Pausing to gauge her sister's reaction, she continues more quietly, her words nevertheless laden with intense passion.

"I'm afraid of dying for nothing, Cissy-_that's_ what I fear, not death itself," she says with a rare solemnity.

"So why do you fight?" her sister asks quietly, piercing Bellatrix's soul with her ice-blue gaze.

"For the same reason I hexed MacNair into a bloody mess when he grabbed your ass at the New Years Eve Ball," she says with a wry chuckle at the fond memory. "And the same reason you'd fight for Draco," she adds as a more serious afterthought.

"Love."

* * *

They remain like that for longer than either of them realise, clinging to each other with a strange mixture of relief, comfort and apprehension.

Narcissa, surprisingly, is the one to end the moment.

"Thank you," she murmurs, stepping out of her sister's embrace.

"You shouldn't be thanking me if you're still as afraid as before," Bellatrix states knowingly, with an arched eyebrow.

"Hearing that you're not afraid of death didn't particularly assure me of your safety," Narcissa admits softly, "and _while_ you're fighting in this war, I'm going to go on worrying about you dying, and being captured because that's the reality."

"But," she continues, holding up her hand to silence Bellatrix, "I trust you, and if even _Lucius _compliments your duelling skills, all I can do is hope you'll be alright."

Bellatrix gives a nod of understanding, and hugs her sister tightly by way of agreement. Drawing back, she gazes at Narcissa, a sudden delighted smirk crossing her lips.

"Lucius complimented my duelling skills?"

* * *

"Did you get hurt last night?"

"Just some bruises and cuts," Bellatrix admits, her usual dismissive tone about such injuries noticeably absent.

"You didn't heal th-"

"Sleep was more appealing," she interrupts with a grin, smoothing Narcissa's hair with an unusual sense of tiredness. Her words are _partly _true, at least...she's not about to tell her sister that she spent the rest of the night with the Dark Lord, after all.

"Then let me," Narcissa says firmly, gently nudging Bellatrix toward the couch once more.

"Ciss-"

"Bella," she repeats, the familiar Black glint shining in her moist eyes. "You never were very good with healing spells."

Hiding an amused grin at her sister's determination, Bellatrix relents, moving to the couch and shrugging out of her robes and dress till she sits in just her underwear.

For a moment, Narcissa's gasp confuses her, until she follows her sister's gaze to a particular set of bruises that in all honesty, truly _do_ look worse than they feel. At the memory of how and why the bruises came about, a satisfied smile crosses her lips-one that she allows her curtain of dark hair to hide. Her Lord had certainly been in a celebratory mood last night as well.

"Bella?"

"Just bruises, Narcissa," she says firmly, a slight note of warning ringing in her tone. With mild frustration, however, she notices that Narcissa's wide eyes are still fixed upon the marks on her thighs, with her fingertips pressed against her mouth.

"But you look like..." Narcissa whispers, unable to finish the sentence.

"Like what, Cissy?!" Bellatrix asks harshly, her thin strand of patience wavering with each passing second. Her temper coupled with a severe lack of rest is _not _a good combination.

"Li-like you've been..._raped_," her sister stammers, horror etched all over her delicate features. The stunned silence that meets her statement merely adds to her fears, and Narcissa's worry increases tenfold.

"Oh Merlin, were you, Bella?" she gasps, moving to sit next to her sister.

If she imagines hard enough, Bella can still feel the touch of her Master on her skin, hear his words of praise in her ear, and see his scarlet eyes boring into her own. A sudden shiver of delight courses throughout her body at the memories-one which Narcissa misinterprets as a sign of fear, judging by the arm she slips round Bellatrix's shoulders.

"No, Cissy. I was...rewarded," she says dreamily, "by the Dark Lord." Leaning into her sister's arms, she smiles contentedly, tapping her sister on the knee reassuringly.

"You _slept _with..._Him_?" Narcissa asks incredulously, barely able to keep the disgust out of her voice. "Willingly?!"

From the way in which Bellatrix stiffens, however, her efforts were not entirely successful, so she continues hurriedly.

"I just didn't think you felt that way about Him," she says quickly, "not that I'm surprised he'd feel that way about you," she continues, nudging Bellatrix's shoulder gently with a sly smile. Truthfully, she _has_, for some time, suspected her sister might be in love with the Dark Lord-after all, the manner in which Bellatrix speaks about her Master and looks at her Mark could only be described as _loving. _

"He doesn't."

Her sister's words cut through her musings like a knife, as does the sudden change in Bellatrix's voice and countenance.

"He doesn't...what?" she asks, shifting to look Bellatrix in the eye.

"He...doesn't love me," she says quietly-almost brokenly, Narcissa thinks fleetingly with a sudden wave of sympathy for her sister's heart.

"He can't...love someone," she continues, talking to herself almost more so than Narcissa. "He says love is a weakness...but how can it be?"

"_How _can it be?" Bellatrix repeats hoarsely, horrified to feel a lump rising in her throat.

"It's not," Narcissa replies firmly. "Love hurts...but it's not a weakness." she says quietly. "It's a strength-the Dark Lord just hasn't realised that yet."

"But you think he could realise? Do you think he _could_ love me?"

The plaintive note of hope in Bellatrix's voice almost shatters Narcissa's heart entirely, for surely a man like _that _will _never_ feel love. But her sister, bruised and battered from a battle of wands and one with her heart, is looking at her so hopefully, so pleadingly, that Narcissa puts her doubts aside and lies.

"I do."

* * *

**A/N: Review?**

**And also...is anyone going to the London Premiere of "Alice in Wonderland"???!!!**

**Cos I am!!!!!! **

**EEEEEEKKKKKKK!!! **


	25. Only time will tell

**A/N: Hello all! :) ****I found myself idle last night and decided to update-it's my longest to date (YAY!) and **_**possibly**_** should have been divided into two chapters...but I just decided to keep it as one long one. With this chapter, I realised that Lily and James are my least fav characters to write-I've **_**no**_** idea why, but I just don't enjoy doing so...so for that reason, I hope I've kept them in character. **

**I also realised that try as I might, I can't **_**not **_**write an update without Bella appearing _somewhere, _ha! ****A quick warning though-many of you may find her OOC in this one-as well as the other character in the scene-but I've wanted to write the scene for AGES, and absolutely loved doing so. So even if you don't like it very much...maybe just trust me when I say it'll be quite relevant in later scenes. **

**On a completely different note, my sincere thanks to those who have written such wonderful and encouraging reviews-I really appreciate hearing your thoughts =) Thanks as well to those who faved/put this on their alerts.**

**However, with the last chapter having reached 500+ hits and only 5 reviews...that's a little frustrating to be honest. I'd keep writing even if I had only one reviewer, but it's still nice to get some feedback.**

**Anyways, I've bored you long enough, so on with the show! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"I still don't fully understand why Sirius doesn't trust Remus," Lily mutters, bouncing Harry on her hip to shush his cries.

Eyeing the photograph of the Marauders that rests on the mantelpiece, she simply _can't_ imagine any one of their friends betraying their trust so. Leaning casually against the edge of the picture, Remus looks half amused, half-exasperated by the antics of James and Sirius, who appear to be pelting a squealing Peter with volleys of snowballs. Even as she chuckles quietly at her husband's behaviour, Lily cannot fully quell the sudden lump that rises in her throat as she continues looking at the picture before her. Whatever the outcome of the War, it truly feels as though things will never be as they once were-that life will never be as light-hearted; that suspicions will have divided the Marauders beyond repair.

Sirius certainly, seems to have lost all trust in Remus-something that she knows troubles James greatly, even if he doesn't admit it out loud. She, for her part, cannot help but think that Sirius' suspicions have been borne out of the current conditions of the War. Voldemort and his Death Eaters have certainly succeeded in creating a mass wave of terror and paranoia, and despite James' insistence that Sirius has his reasons for distrusting Remus, she suspects his distrust springs from immense stress as opposed to any real concrete evidence of betrayal.

With Voldemort's ranks growing in size and strength, remaining level-headed is a feat which she suspects few of the Order have truly managed. Sirius, meanwhile, has the additional anxiety of being on the opposing side to all of his family-with the exception of Andromeda, of course-and this, coupled with the thought of meeting these relatives in battle is surely enough to drive any man to distraction. As deeply as Sirius professes his hatred to run for his cousin and brother, wounding, or even killing them in battle is not something that will come easy to the eldest Black son-of this she is sure, for it is certainly what separates Sirius _from_ his relatives.

Therefore, try as she might, Lily cannot fully place all of her confidence in Sirius' reasoning, for in her heart of hearts, she knows Remus would rather die than betray any of them. James, on the other hand, trusts Sirius more than anyone, and therefore, has been increasingly wary of trusting anyone else. Their decision not to even inform Dumbledore that Peter is the true Secret Keeper certainly speaks volumes about the implicit trust between Sirius, James and Peter.

"Sirius has his reasons," James replies firmly, his jaw tensing slightly at the mere thought of Remus playing traitor.

"If you mean that incident with Bellatrix, it seems as though she was just taunting Sirius," Lily counters with equal firmness, jostling the now content Harry onto her other hip. She knows the subject of Remus' possible betrayal is increasingly sore territory for her husband, but at the same time doesn't want to see him lose one of his oldest friends due to Bellatrix's insinuations.

"Better safe than sorry, don't you think?" James asks quietly, his eyes flickering from Lily to Harry as he speaks.

Eyebrow raised at her husband's solemn tone, she nods slightly before pressing on. "But at the expense of one of your best friends?" she asks slowly, "I'm not entirely sure Remus deserves our distrust."

The muscle in James' jaw twitches once more as he twirls his wand through his fingers.

"Voldemort's recruiting werewolves, Lily," he sighs wearily. "A werewolf in the Order's an attractive addition to his ranks."

Running his hand through his messy hair, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the sofa.

"I don't like doubting Remus anymore than you do, but Sirius..."

He opens his eyes then, matching Lily's gaze head-on, "I _trust_ Sirius, Lily...he's my brother...and his word's good enough for me." He stands then, moving toward her so that Harry is nestled snugly in between them.

"I don't like Sirius' suspicions, Lily, but I accept them," he says, ruffling Harry's hair till it's as messy as his own.

"I _hope _he's wrong about Remus," he states, his eyes glued to the face of his son, "but with this Prophecy..." he raises his eyes back to Lily's then, a familiar fire burning in them.

"We can't afford to take any chances."

* * *

Though a voice in his head tells him to stay out of the public eye, a louder voice tells Sirius to drown his sorrows and doubts in a pub, rather than at home by himself. In the dark times of the war, the Wizarding economy is certainly depressed, with the streets of Hogsmeade all but deserted. And yet, in spite of this, the Three Broomsticks remains a small beacon of comfort, with the owner's daughter, Rosmerta doing her utmost to cheer the edgy clientele with banter and a much-needed smile.

Sirius on the other hand, didn't particularly _want _someone to lift his spirits, or worse, look at him askance-wondering if he'd joined the rest of his family in Voldemort's ranks. No, Sirius Black simply wants to forget everything for a few hours. In other words, he plans to get completely drunk, and the place to do so in peace is the Hogs Head.

And so this is where he finds himself, sitting at the end of the bar, hood pulled over his head, nursing a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hands; doing his utmost not to think about Remus, James, or the Prophecy-just for _one night. _

A familiar scent-dark chocolate and red wine, he recognises-suddenly invades his senses, and _just_ like that, Sirius remembers that there is simply _no _rest for the wicked.

"Shouldn't you be out desecrating a Church?" he snarls, (admittedly half-slurs), not even bothering to look at the figure now perched upon the seat next to him.

"I haven't done that in years," his cousin drawls amusedly, "and even then, it was only on a dare," she grins.

Grasping his wand between his fingers, he pivots in his seat, till he faces the equally hooded Bellatrix, wisps of raven curls tumbling along the edges of her cloak.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he growls, gripping his wand till his knuckles turn white. "Come to kill me?"

Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, she simply reaches out for his bottle of Firewhiskey, taking a long drink as he watches-half furious, half thankful to have someone to spar with-to _finally _unleash some of his frustration. In spite of himself, he's _almost_ impressed when his cousin doesn't even wince as the burning liquid runs down her throat.

"Siri," she says in a bored manner, "don't be such a Gryffindork. I'm sure I have a _lot_ more friends in here than you." She shifts on her stool as she speaks, sending a dangerous glare toward the barman making none too subtle glances at her chest. "Besides," she continues once said barman has moved to the other end of the bar, "you're no good to me dead...not yet, anyway," she adds as an afterthought.

Glancing round at the rest of the figures in the bar, Sirius cannot help but agree with Bellatrix's statement, and withdraws his wand; still keeping a tight hold on it out of sheer wariness.

"Let's take it outside then," he challenges, knowing full well that his cousin can be trusted to rise to the bait.

"It's not like anyone will care these days," he continues.

A smirk dancing about her full lips, she laughs, a dark and oddly pleasing sound that somehow sends a tingle up his spine.

"In your drunken state you wouldn't be much of a challenge," she chuckles, tossing some coins on the counter for another drink.

Considering her for a moment, he watches as she knocks back a vodka in one go, before pushing the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey toward her again.

"Let's even the playing-field then," he growls huskily, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as his cousin meets his challenge head on, taking the bottle from his grasp, eyes narrowed.

"Your mouth will be the death of you," she replies, even as she gulps down a considerable amount of the alcohol.

"If you aren't first," he counters with a bark of a laugh.

Her smile, if possible, simply widens further at his response.

"Well then, cousin," she purrs, handing him back the Firewhiskey, "you'd best drink up."

* * *

"DAMN DEATH EATERS!"

It takes immense effort for Barty Jr. not to smile at his father's frustration. At the Dark Lord's request, the Death Eaters had celebrated in style, to put it lightly, and judging from his father's reaction, the Daily Prophet had done exactly what the Ministry had ordered them not to do-published the latest deaths of the Light Side; thus ensuring a fresh wave of terror and chaos. Imperiusing the Editor of the Daily Prophet had been one of Barty's personal tasks, and he'd done so with great satisfaction and success, just as he'd disposed of the McKinnon brothers-Bella's training had served him very well indeed.

Knowing it would make his father's job even more stressful had simply been the icing on the cake.

And the Dark Lord! The Dark Lord had been oh so praiseworthy-something his own father had certainly never been throughout his lifetime. He'd had this thought even as he'd received his praise, and the Dark Lord had, to Barty's great surprise, confided in him that his own father had been a pathetic disappointment as well. It had certainly given Barty a great degree of comfort, while also making him feel incredibly privileged. Having the Dark Lord confide _anything _in you is an altogether thrilling experience, and one which makes Barty feel far closer to his Master.

"Something wrong, Father?" he asks with fake concern, widening his eyes in an attempt to look more innocent, and less gleeful.

Breathing heavily, nostrils flared, his father starts, as if only having just noticed his son's presence in the room-no great surprise there, Barty thinks darkly, a flash of hate twisting his gut.

Giving his son a once-over, Barty Crouch Sr. simply gives a low growl of frustration before replying, "private Ministry business, boy," in an entirely dismissively manner.

Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile on his face, Barty simply tosses the Daily Prophet toward his father-having already read through it all with great enthusiasm.

"I'm assuming it has something to do with all these attacks?" he states plainly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. "Edgar Bones, prominent member of the Wizengamot and Ministry of Magic brutally murdered," he recites slowly, taking great pleasure in the increased throbbing of the vein in his father's temple. "Bones children found dead in beds," he continues, his eyes focused on the picture of the Dark Mark above the Bones' home. He raises his eyes to take in his father's furious face, "The war doesn't seem to be going well for the Light side," he comments lightly, raising an eyebrow as though surprised by the events.

"What do you plan to do about that, Father?" he asks slowly, seemingly concerned by his Father's situation. Barty Sr.'s face simply turns a fabulous shade of puce in response.

"I'm going back to the office," his father spits, grabbing the Prophet from his hands and throwing it into the fire with a savage ferocity.

"I don't have time to listen to your idle comments, boy! While you sit in this house all day with your mother, I've got a war to fight!" he snaps, sneering at his son's lack of a response, even as he throws Floo Powder into the fireplace.

"Twelve O.W.L.s in Hogwarts doesn't mean you'll ever make a mark on this world, boy!"

Eying the disappearing figure, Barty simply laughs quietly, considering his father's parting words. Idly tracing the outline of his Mark beneath his sleeve, his smirk grows at the thought of making the Dark Lord proud.

"Just give me time, Father," he murmurs quietly, "give me time."

* * *

As the two cousins bow toward one another, now equally intoxicated, it is as though they are back in the gardens of the Black Manor; each fiercely determined to best the other and emerge superior. Though neither will ever, _ever _admit it to anyone-not even to themselves-their duels are always the most thrilling and exciting-possibly because they find formidable opponents in one another, but certainly it is something much deeper than that. Both Sirius and Bellatrix are driven by their passions and emotions, burning fires that can only consume, or be consumed. Firewhiskey aside, hot intensity courses throughout their veins and souls. In this, the middle of the Wizarding War, their duel is not about the Order or Voldemort's ranks-they are simply looking to let their passions take control, just for this one night. Each cousin knows that the next time they meet, it will probably be in a duel to kill.

Standing now in a deserted alleyway, the two size each other up for a long moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Sirius is the first to break the thick silence, pointing up to the stars above.

"Does it bother you that I'll always be the brightest star?" he half-slurs with a cocky grin, and just like that, Bella strikes first, an infuriated snarl twisting her face.

He barely manages to dodge the yellow light that whizzes past his shoulder, and with a bark of laughter, counters with a spell of his own. Despite their previous consumption of alcohol, each cousin is still relatively agile and sharp. The duel itself is quick and heated, artistry somewhat discarded in the their current states. Indeed after a solid five minutes of steady duelling, each manages to disarm the other simultaneously-each wand flying in opposite directions- and where such an occurrence may have once ended in a draw, tonight seems to be an exception to all rules.

Bellatrix therefore, dives without hesitation for her wand, while Sirius simply dives for her with equal fervour, managing to grab his own wand in the process. Mere fingertips from her wand, the full weight of her cousin sends her tumbling onto the ground. With a shriek borne from shock than concern, Bellatrix hisses sharply, cursing him for having resorted to such Muggle habits.

Pressing into her windpipe firmly, Sirius grins at the satisfaction of seeing his cousin, a hardened Death Eater no less, at his mercy.

"Admit defeat," he growls, his anger growing at the defiance shining in her obsidian eyes.

"Admit it," he repeats, tightening his grip on her throat, shaking her forcibly. When she opens her mouth, however, he makes the mistake of loosening his grip the _slightest _bit, and so when the heel of her hand catches him clear in the temple, it dizzies him enough for him to slacken his grip altogether.

Half stunned, he barely registers her pushing off him completely, and reaching for her wand.

"NOX!" he shouts suddenly, blanketing them in total darkness for a single, and highly valuable instance. Reaching out blindly for his cousin's shoulders, he shoves her hard into the wall, shifting his grip to press her wrists against the wall instead. A quickly muttered "lumos" restores the light to the dimly light alleyway, and the two pause for a moment to take in the effects of their duel on the other.

"Told you I'm the brightest star," he grins maddeningly, suddenly feeling more alive than ever, even in spite of the deep hatred he bears for his cousin.

Turning her head to gaze at the sky, the confidence of her answering smile unnerves him slightly. Following her eyes, he watches in irritation as a swirling mass of cloud obscures the dog-star, leaving the Amazon star to shine brightly from a higher vantage point in the sky.

"You were saying?" she smirks, quirking an eyebrow at her cousin's obvious annoyance.

"I've still got the upper hand here," he hisses, pressing her harder against the wall as if to prove his point. As he does so, his body presses more tightly against her own, and for a moment, each cousin can feel the other's heartbeat against their own chest.

"So you still have a heart then," Sirius murmurs quietly, watching the rise and fall of her chest. "I thought you'd have lost it by now," he half-whispers.

Whether it is out of discomfort at the sudden intimacy, or even at the exposure of her vulnerability, Bellatrix does not hesitate to take the opportunity Sirius' close proximity provides her with. Reverting to a dirty, underhanded move, one she certainly never shied away from as a young girl and does not hesitate to use now-fair play be damned, she's a Slytherin-she lifts one knee and brings it unflinchingly into his groin.

With a curse and a pained groan, Sirius falls back, despite his best efforts, allowing Bellatrix the chance to seize her wand once more. Both panting heavily from exertion, black meets grey as they drink in each other's gaze.

""Doesn't your Master _need_ me?" Sirius asks carefully, teeth still gritted in pain. "I don't think he'd be too pleased if you killed me."

"So you going to kill me now Bellatrix?" he asks again hoarsely, a flicker of fear dancing up his spine for the first time.

Bellatrix simply looks at him for a long moment, satisfied with her victory but certainly not with the means of her cousin's defeat, it must be said. Whether this is partly due to having to resort to Muggle tactics, or the lack of an audience to see her cousin's humiliation, she isn't sure, but either way, she knows deep down, for some unexplainable reason, that she doesn't want to kill Sirius tonight, and not in a dingy alleyway with no spectators. And judging from his statements, her cousin still has utter faith in that rat, Pettigrew, which makes up her mind for her. Betrayal will torture Sirius far more than she ever could, of this, she is certain.

Instead, she rolls his wand toward him with the toe of her dragon-hide boots, her smile a strange mix of contempt and grudging contentment.

"Next time," she promises firmly, and from the hardened glint in her eye, he knows she speaks the truth.

* * *

**A/N: Well I couldn't very well have her kill him, now could I? ;) **

**I might possibly have an update before I head off for the AiW premiere...maybe Monday, but I can't make any promises-hence this super long update (by my standards anyway!). **


	26. A Man's World?

**A/N: Hey all! First of all, a GIANT apology for how overdue this update is-I won't bore you with excuses, but between college, exams, friends, job-hunting and a lot more time-consuming things, I found myself with very little time to update. BUT! My summer has begun, and with it, come lots of updates :) **

**Secondly, the AIW premiere (which feels like forever ago now!) was AMAZING! I was lucky enough to get Johnny and Tim's autographs, and I nearly died with excitement. BEST. FEELING. EVER. (Johnny is even more gorgeous in person) I really CANNOT recommend going to premieres enough!**

**Enough rambling from me though, so on with the story! It's quite a long update to apologise for my very long absence. Sincere thanks as always to those who reviewed, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_October 28__th__, 1981._

"Surely your other toys aren't boring you already, dear Bellatrix?"

Tearing her eyes away from the hunched form of Severus Snape, Bellatrix shifts her focus upon her brother-in-law, who to his credit, manages to avoid flinching at the penetrative nature of her gaze.

"Quite the contrary Lucius," she drawls, "_you _bore me."

A slight frown creases her forehead as she turns her eye back to Severus, watching as he rises from the table to make his way to their Master's chambers; both unwilling and unable to ignore the strange niggling feeling in her gut.

"And you find Severus of interest? I wonder how Rodolphus would react to such news," Lucius says smoothly, a malicious glint in his grey eyes. "Where is your husband anyway? Tell me, Bellatrix, does he know of your aff-"

"I would _suggest_," Bellatrix hisses, "that you choose your next words carefully if you do not wish Draco to be the only child you produce."

Pressing her wand more firmly into his groin, she smirks slightly at the mangled noise Lucius makes in the back of his throat; fury and the merest hint of fear evident on his face.

Turning away from Lucius to watch Snape once more, Bellatrix scowls.

"Rodolphus is in France till tomorrow night on business for the Dark Lord. He intends to visit his parents before he returns and wishes me to join him," she replies flatly; her in-laws' expectations for a grandchild-sooner rather than later-had quickly become a source of great irritation.

"And Seve-"

"I don't trust him," she says coolly, twirling her wand through her fingers as she speaks, watching his retreating form.

"And I don't care that you vouched for him either," she remarks harshly, addressing Lucius once more.

"Bringing a spy into our ranks would hardly be the first serious error in judgement you've made lately, after all."

"Enlighten me of such errors, won't you?" Lucius asks tightly, narrowing his eyes as he glares at his sister-in-law.

"Alright then!" she spits, turning on him suddenly, her own eyes blazing in temper, "_why _in the name of Merlin would you tell Cissy I was duelling Aurors alone? Are you lacking the link between your mouth and brain?"

"Or is it simply entertaining for you to let my sister think me dead?" she continues with a snarl, ignoring the growing attention their conversation is gaining from their fellow Death Eaters.

"Are you _utterly_ incapable of keeping quiet about our work for the Dark Lord?" she asks harshly, her sister's tears still fresh in her mind.

Acutely aware of the growing murmurs from the rest of those seated at the table, Lucius sets his jaw and simply arches an eyebrow, drawing upon the icy dignity of his father that he had long ago copied and perfected. He knows his sister-in-law well enough to know that being confronted by placidity merely serves to increase her agitation.

Indeed, for Bellatrix, such an undermining of her fury threatens to unleash a tempest upon the entire room, as she grinds her teeth in sheer frustration.

Lucius cannot help but feel entitled to deal Bellatrix a low blow. She's had it coming for such blatant arrogance over the years, he muses.

"_This _outburst of yours," he says calmly, "is precisely why many think female Death Eaters are more trouble than they're worth."

"Well said, old friend," laughs Igor Karkaroff, his yellowed teeth visible in a wide, malicious grin.

His resentment of Bellatrix is no secret, given her envied position at the right hand of the Dark Lord. Karkaroff is no fool, and though he may serve another, he ultimately serves himself first wherever possible.

Bellatrix despises him for it.

"I've always said, female Death Eaters are only good for one purpose," he leers, raking his eyes over her form suggestively, amid chuckles from a couple of the others.

"If my brother were here," Rabastan Lestrange interjects with an angry growl, "I'm quite certain you'd be half-dead by now, Karkaroff." Drawing his wand from his robes, he stands, "As it is, he's in France, but I assure you, I'm quite willing to shut your mouth on his behalf," he spits.

Karkaroff, for his part, merely leans back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.

"Such righteous anger," he chuckles, "surely _you _have heard the same rumours we have Lestrange? That Bellatrix here has discovered ways of finding favour _we _cannot?" he smirks, a trace of bitterness and resentment nevertheless present in his tone.

As the tension grows even thicker in the room, Lucius is almost beginning to regret having provoked such an attack of Bellatrix at all. After all, if she kills Karkaroff-which is growing increasingly more likely with each word he speaks-the source of her anger will lead back to Lucius himself. As he notices Bellatrix hands shaking with rage, he cannot help but feel the slightest hint of guilt, even in spite of her outburst at him.

He knows she's every bit as good a dueller (if not better) than her male counterparts in the room. He also knows that her anger with him was driven primarily by an instinctual desire to protect Narcissa-possibly the only trait he shares with his sister-in-law.

He's very much afraid of the whole situation becoming as uncontrollable as Bellatrix herself.

Barty Crouch, meanwhile, is watching the entire spectacle with something akin to both anger and glee. Anger because of Karkaroff's insinuations and the shame that he seeks to cause Barty's mentor, but also, because he cannot help but envy Bellatrix's close ties with the Dark Lord-though he has been fortunate enough to develop a (what he secretly regards as a sort of father-son) relationship with their Master the past few months, he is nevertheless slightly jealous at the thought of Bellatrix being the Dark Lord's closest confidante of all.

His glee, on the other hand, is inspired by the knowledge of what his mentor can, and probably _will _do to Karkaroff for disrespecting her-and so publicly at that. If his past lessons are anything to go by, Barty suspects that once Bellatrix's done with him, Karkaroff will not be saying _anything_ any time soon.

He's _very_ much looking forward to seeing Bellatrix's chosen method of punishment.

In fact, so caught up are the Death Eaters in this latest spat, that none notice Nagini has slithered into the room, tasting the air around her with her forked tongue.

* * *

"Lord Voldemort is much pleased with your work Severus," the Dark Lord says slowly, examining the potion vials carefully.

"You certainly have quite a remarkable gift for creating your own potions," he grins; somewhat impressed by the ability of the young man before him and the vast array of potions littering the table before him.

Such skill is certainly a valuable asset to his ranks, particularly given the originality of much of Severus' concoctions.

"My Lord is most gracious in his praise," Severus says smoothly, inclining his head even lower.

"And what of your spell work?" Voldemort asks languidly, returning to his seat. "I recall Lucius telling me of your innovations in that field as well?"

"I have, My Lord, made some advances," Severus nods slowly. "The Sectumse-"

An angry hiss from Nagini interrupts his words as she slithers into the room once more. Severus often wonders if she is like a spy for Voldemort, for he has noticed the snake's tendency to watch the other Death Eaters should Voldemort be otherwise occupied by private one-to-one discussions with his servants.

Barely managing to repress a shudder as the snake hisses again, Severus watches curiously as Voldemort inclines his head toward his pet, hissing his own responses. It doesn't take a Parselmouth to know that whatever Nagini is saying is agitating the Dark Lord greatly, as his scarlet eyes glow threateningly. Just what has inspired such anger is what Severus cannot discern from the conversation.

In truth, Voldemort can't quite decide what he's most irritated about.

"_Such foolish arguments Nagini..." _Voldemort continues slowly, "_such weaknesses within the ranks..." _

"_And so ill-timed," _the snake agrees, slithering up the chair to rest her head by Voldemort's ear. _"Such tensions threaten the strength of the ranks, Master, but you must admit-"_

"_Admit what?" _Voldemort asks dangerously, and Nagini feels his muscles tense beneath her.

"_That Karkaroff's jealously is not unfounded," _the snake hisses. _"You are certainly more indulgent of Lestrange than the others."_

"_I see nothing wrong with rewarding Bellatrix for her successes," _he says coolly, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"_But you reward her differently than you do the others, Master," _the snake hisses in response, _"and therein lies their problem." _

"_And who is to say __**I**__ do not reward __**myself**__ with Bellatrix?" _Voldemort snaps in frustration.

He resents having to analyse his relationship with Bellatrix and usually avoids doing so. While he has a certain fondness for the raven-haired witch, and certainly enjoys their couplings greatly, he cannot afford to be seen as weakened by his involvement with her. If the others have come to regard her as less than a servant, then their view of him might equally shift, he thinks.

As though she has read his thoughts, Nagini gives an angry hiss.

"_Do not be so paranoid, Master-Their view of you will not change! They condemn Lestrange for such rumours rather than you. They see her as your favourite, and because of her sex, they attempt to make this role a source of shame for her." _

"_Then what do you advise I do now?" _Voldemort asks, curiosity piqued by the insightful nature of his pet.

"_Let Karkaroff see Lestrange's power for himself," _Nagini responds after a moment, as Voldemort gives a wry chuckle.

Settling herself more comfortably around her Master's shoulders as he stands, Nagini speaks again, and Severus, who is still watching quietly, swears for a moment that the snake almost smiles.

"_And enjoy the show." _

* * *

"If you consider yourself so _superior_, Igor," Bellatrix snarls, "then why not prove it in a duel?"

She knows she cannot kill the spineless being before her without facing a severe punishment, but Bellatrix has absolutely no intention of letting him mock her without facing some consequences. In fact, she's rather proud of herself for not having killed Karkaroff already.

"Why don't you show everyone here," she says with dangerous enthusiasm, "just how powerful a man you are, hmm?"

Shifting slightly in his seat, Karkaroff gives an uneasy chuckle.

"And risk injuring the Dark Lord's favourite? I am no fool, Bellatrix."

She can smell his fear a mile off. It's almost intoxicating.

Gesturing around to the rest of the listening Death Eaters she continues mockingly, "why the concern, Igor? You were so sure just a moment ago that I couldn't possibly have found favour with the Dark Lord for my duelling ability!"

Eyeing his weak chin with distaste, she smirks as she sees him swallow a lump in his throat.

"Unless...is poor ickle Igor afraid of the big bad Bellatrix, a mere _woman_?" she taunts, revelling in the chuckles that spread throughout the table.

She points her wand toward Karkaroff, her smile that of a shark.

Barty almost feels childlike in his excitement. He can hardly resist the urge to clap excitedly.

"Duel me, coward," Bellatrix hisses challengingly, "and we'll see who is the weaker of us two."

Aware of the dubious looks he is receiving, Karkaroff draws his wand, gripping its handle tightly. Rising to his feet, Karkaroff moves to the other side of the table to stand opposite Bellatrix, who falls into a duelling position with familiar ease.

"Aren't you going to bow, Lestrange?" he sneers, baring his teeth in temper.

"I bow only to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix responds imperiously, true passion ringing in her declaration.

With a low growl, Karkaroff copies her position, raising his wand high above his head.

"Unforgivables?" he inquires, keeping a watchful eye on Bellatrix's wand.

A burst of laughter bursts forth from Barty Crouch, and half distracted, Karkaroff turns back just in time to see a feverish glow ignite Bellatrix's countenance.

"Like you even had to ask?" she coos, even as she sends a powerful Crucio toward him.

* * *

Though Karkaroff puts up a valiant enough effort, there is no denying that he is by far the weaker opponent. It takes merely several minutes for Bellatrix to incapacitate him, and Voldemort, particularly familiar with her ability, can tell that she was simply toying with Karkaroff for much of that time in order to humiliate the man further.

"_You see Master?" _Nagini hisses, _"it was best to let Lestrange silence her own critics." _

Barely stifling his amusement as Bellatrix imperiuses Karkaroff to bow down to her, Voldemort nods in agreement, watching as the rest of the Death Eaters (some more enthusiastically than others) congratulate Bellatrix and jeer at Igor.

Still, he cannot let his Death Eaters have their own sport all night, and stepping out from the shadows, Voldemort makes his way to the head of the table, clearing his throat as he does so.

As one, the Death Eaters fall silent, and return to their seats; Igor flushed red in humiliation, Bellatrix unable to conceal a grin of pride.

"My friends," Voldemort announces, spreading his arms widely as if to embrace them all, "we are but three days away from bringing the Wizarding World completely under our control."

Excited claps and laughs break out as Voldemort grins evilly, Nagini hissing her displeasure at the volume of the cries of jubilation.

"And yet," Voldemort continues quietly, his voice cool, "some of my Death Eaters find themselves dissatisfied with their position in the ranks...jealous of the ability of others it seems..."

Turning his gaze upon Karkaroff, he arches an almost non-existent eyebrow.

"Do you still question Bellatrix's presence among my servants, Igor? Do you question Lord Voldemort's choices?"

"No, My Lord," Karkaroff replies hurriedly, avoiding looking at Bellatrix. "Bellatr-"

"Beat you with ease in a fair duel," responds Voldemort languidly.

"If you wish to be of higher position in the ranks, Igor, perhaps you should focus more upon your own missions and ability, and less upon others, hmm?"

"Yes, My Lord," Karkaroff replies quietly, turning his gaze toward his lap.

"Now then, Rookwood," Voldemort says, shifting his attention to another further down the table, "what news of the Ministry?"

* * *

Before she can disapparate, Lucius takes hold of Bellatrix's elbow, releasing his hold as she turns; wand drawn to hex whoever had grabbed her.

"More comments to make Lucius?" she asks caustically, a dark eyebrow raised challengingly.

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Lucius merely smirks, the memory of Karkaroff's humiliation still amusing to him.

"Hardly, Bellatrix," he says silkily, fastening his cloak as he speaks.

"I merely sought to invite you for lunch tomorrow-Narcissa mentioned not having seen you for a while, and with Rodolphus in France till tomorrow night, I thought you might like to spend some time with her, and Draco, as well."

"A baby hardly makes for an entertaining conversationalist," Bellatrix sneers, tossing her curls over her shoulder.

Ignoring the jibe against his son, Lucius sets his jaw determinedly, and stays silent. Narcissa actually mentioned nothing about inviting her sister for lunch, but Lucius feels that after his blunder the other night, it is the least he can do for his wife. It is as gracious as he can possibly be to his infuriatingly wild sister-in-law.

"Fine," Bellatrix drawls after a moment, "I'll come. Even a crying infant is better company than putting up with Rodolphus' mother for an evening."

Forcing a smile, Lucius gives a tight nod.

"Narcissa will be pleased, you two must have a lot to discuss," he offers, slightly unnerved by the glint that appears in Bellatrix's eye at his words.

"Oh yes," Bellatrix smirks, "we discuss quite a bit when we see each other."

The knowing look in her eyes is making him particularly uncomfortable, though he'll be damned if he lets Bellatrix know that. Still, he feels horribly naked under her obsidian gaze.

As she prepares to disapparate, she throws him a satisfied smile over her shoulder and winks brazenly.

"A 'damn good dueller' am I, Lucius?"

Her gleeful laughter echoes her departure as Lucius wonders if there's anything Narcissa doesn't share with her older sister.

**A/N: Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated :)**


	27. Caught in a bad romance

**A/N: Apologies for the delay in updating-I have no excuse other than my having rewritten this chapter about six times...I thought I'd slow the pace down before things get really hectic with Halloween approaching (and they will!), and the end-result is a chapter I'm fond of, but not altogether confident about...**

**Also, I may have taken some liberties with both Bellatrix's opinions of Rodolphus and marriage, as well as the ways in which mind-control can be used...the latter was necessary in order to indulge my need to see Lucius humiliated, if that excuses my having stretched the boundaries of Legilimency-**_**if **_**I have, that is, since I'm not altogether sure. **

**Hopefully some long-awaited Bellamort sexy-time will please at least! ;)**

**As always, my sincere thanks for your continual and wonderful reviews, I love hearing your thoughts. Hope you all enjoy, given the angst that's just around the corner!**

* * *

_October 29__th__, 1981._

"I certainly enjoyed your little show with Karkaroff last night," Voldemort says slowly, trailing his wand down Bellatrix's bare back, smirking to himself as she shifts her position restlessly on the bed.

He trails a path of kisses down her spine, following the path of his wand, occasionally nipping her skin and letting his tongue taste her skin; droplets of sweat still cooling on her body.

"I learned from the best," Bellatrix responds rather breathlessly, arching her body to meet her Master's cool lips as her heavily lidded eyes close in pleasure once more.

"What kind of things did you learn?" Voldemort asks slyly, pressing his chest against Bellatrix's back to speak directly into her ear.

"All...kinds of things..." Bellatrix manages as Voldemort's hands begin to wander freely.

"And what was your teacher like?" Voldemort grins, enjoying watching Bellatrix's obvious efforts to control herself.

A low moan is the reply he receives as his teasing fingertips begin to press with greater pressure.

"I didn't quite catch that," Voldemort mocks sternly, pinching Bellatrix's breast as punishment.

"He..." Words fail Bellatrix for another moment as Voldemort presses his lower body against hers teasingly.

"Yes?"

"He was often quite...hard...on me," Bellatrix says with barely suppressed laughter, curling her body upward to rub against Voldemort's suggestively, revelling in the hiss that escapes her Master's lips at the movement.

A shriek of excitement and surprise flies from her lips as Voldemort turns her over so that they're looking each other in the eye; black meeting scarlet, as he grabs her calves to settle her against him firmly; the tell-tale signs of his arousal now pressing into Bellatrix's hip.

"And how did you...handle that?" Voldemort asks, his own voice now somewhat strained.

Bellatrix arches a suggestive eyebrow in reply and stretches herself languorously beneath her Master.

"With _great _pleasure," she smirks, curling her legs around Voldemort's waist as he thrusts into her forcefully, all coherent thoughts quickly forgotten.

* * *

Narcissa is almost halfway through her glass of wine by the time Bellatrix steps out of the parlour fireplace, some forty-five minutes late; though Narcissa suspects her sister is neither aware of nor concerned by her tardiness.

"Nice of you to show up," Narcissa says coolly, scowling in mild irritation.

"Official business Cissy," Bellatrix says casually, taking a seat next to her sister at the table. "Duty calls, you know," she whispers conspiratorially; filling herself a glass of wine with a flick of her wand as she speaks.

Narcissa merely arches a knowing eyebrow in response, her sharp eye missing neither the satisfied smirk nor the kiss swollen lips of her sister. Repressing a shudder at the thought of Bellatrix and the Dark Lord..._together_, she instead drains the rest of her own wine, considering her sister's marriage. She wonders fleetingly if a part of Bellatrix seeks to intentionally hurt Rodolphus, and cannot help but feel a pang of pity for her brother-in-law.

"Narcissa!"

As she-somewhat guiltily, it must be said-refocuses her attention, Narcissa realises that her sister is watching her curiously, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"Is something bothering you?" Bellatrix asks slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly, "you've been staring at me for the past three minutes."

Knowledge of Bellatrix's considerable skill as a Legilimens makes Narcissa rather uncomfortable for a moment, and dropping her eyes from Bellatrix's steely gaze to the impeccably laid-out table, she simply shakes her head, uncertain of why she suddenly wishes her sister was content in her marriage.

"Then indulge me, Cissy dear," Bellatrix says, black eyes flashing dangerously, "why is my husband occupying so much of your thoughts?"

Setting her jaw against Bellatrix's threatening demeanour, Narcissa simply smirks, cocking her head to the side as she considers her sister.

"Your irritation is rather hypocritical, Bella, given that Lucius occupies so much of _yours."_

Scowling viciously, Bellatrix scoffs, "I can assure you, Cissy, when to Lucius, my thoughts are _anything_ but sympathetic."

"I was merely wondering why you've chosen not to join Rodolphus in France," Narcissa lies smoothly, somewhat unwilling to approach the topic of her sister's marriage aloud.

"Liar."

Leaning forward in her chair, Bellatrix flashes Narcissa a toothy grin, though the blonde cannot help but think it rather predatory in nature.

"You think Rodolphus doesn't have _his_ affairs, Cissy?" Not waiting for Narcissa's answer, Bellatrix presses on, a faint note of amusement now entering her voice.

"I like Rodolphus, and respect him well enough-most of the time at least," she adds as an afterthought. "He's wealthy enough to maintain my lifestyle, we share the same ideals, and we make a good team. He's handsome and while I certainly enjoy his..._company_...from time to time, I won't pretend to feel an emotion I don't, Narcissa."

Leaning back in her chair, Bellatrix crosses her arms, a habit from childhood that usually signifies the end of a conversation. Narcissa, however, is no longer five years old, and so she ignores the movement.

"And do you think Rodolphus loves _you_?" she asks quietly, flicking her eyes up to meet her sister's, taking great care to keep her voice serene in order not to agitate Bellatrix further. Though Bellatrix's moods are always made known, her inner feelings are something much more carefully guarded and rarely spoken of-particularly if they are of a distressing nature. Indeed, for the faintest of moments, Bellatrix seems to hesitate.

"Rodolphus knows my opinion of love matches," Bellatrix says darkly, a haunted look entering her eyes as she toys with the silver cutlery. "As do you, sister," she adds, her voice tight with rising anger as she meets Narcissa's eyes once more.

Love matches. Narcissa has long since suspected that Bellatrix associates love matches with Andromeda's betrayal-that to love one's spouse is to betray others in your life. Of course, she could hardly bring up the topic with Bellatrix, but now, as she watches her sister's knuckles whiten upon the tablecloth, she knows her suspicions have finally been confirmed. Deep down, she sometimes wonders if this is why Bellatrix seems to despise Lucius so much; an underlying fear that she will lose Narcissa too. It makes Bellatrix seem oddly vulnerable in Narcissa's eyes.

Placing a calming hand upon her sister's, Narcissa gives a reassuring smile, somewhat used to diffusing Bellatrix's temper over the years.

"You may not respect Rodolphus for loving you...or even _want_ his love," she says gently, thinking of Bellatrix's unwavering passion for the Dark Lord, "but you needn't scorn the emotion with such a...vengeance," she continues, a rueful smile crossing her lips.

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Bellatrix asks mockingly, all signs of her previous vulnerability having vanished as quickly as it came. "What have you learned from the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_, Cissy dear?"

"Why not join Rodolphus in France?" Narcissa suggests, a satisfied gleam entering her eye as an idea worms its way into her mind. "It would certainly make him happy if you went, and perhaps it would do you good to enjoy _his..._company for a while," she says knowingly, arching a suggestive eyebrow toward her sister.

"Unless of course...you're afraid to face your mother-in-law?" Narcissa mocks, fully aware of the tension between her sister and Madame Lestrange.

"Hardly," Bellatrix growls, highly affronted by the insinuation. "_Draco_ is more intimidating than that old bat," she sneers.

"Then why not go to France?" Narcissa repeats, amused by the ease with which she can manipulate her sister's pride.

"Fine," Bellatrix grounds out, twisting a fork in her hands angrily, "if it'll get you to stop_ pestering_ me about my marriage like some lovesick Hufflepuff, I'll go."

Eyeing Narcissa's small smile with annoyance and suspicion, Bellatrix picks at her lunch; her mood severely darkened by the conversation that has just taken place, though the satisfaction evident on Narcissa's face is enough to agitate her in itself-as though she knows something Bellatrix does not.

The feeling doesn't sit well with Bellatrix, and as Narcissa begins chatting about Draco's newest achievements-Bellatrix barely suppresses a snort at this-she decides that perhaps it's time to teach her sister the merits of mind control.

* * *

"Anything you'd like to share about _your_ marriage, Cissy?"

The question is voiced innocently, the first hint to Narcissa of Bellatrix's insincerity, and so she simply shakes her head warily, changing the subject abruptly. Bellatrix seems content for the moment to let the subject drop, but when Lucius returns from the Ministry a few minutes later, Narcissa does not miss the vengeful glint that appears in her sister's eye.

Barely listening as her sister and Lucius make their usual snarky comments, Narcissa nearly chokes on her wine when she hears Bellatrix's voice in her mind, even as the raven-haired witch rolls her eyes at Lucius.

"Sympathy for Rodolphus...it's Lucius I feel sorry for, Cissy." The words are spoken earnestly, and having overcome the initial discomfort of having someone else in her mind, Narcissa responds in kind, surprised to find her sister's mind shields lowered so.

"Why pity Lucius?" she asks her sister, smiling at her husband as he pours a glass of wine for himself.

"He has such shortcomings, Cissy!" Bellatrix replies instantly, curling her slender fingers around her own glass as Lucius-knowing nothing of the ongoing conversation between the two sisters-proposes a toast to the Dark Lord.

"I don't know what you mean, Bella," Narcissa responds coolly, as she raises her glass to join in Lucius' toast.

Bellatrix simply clucks her tongue in mock disappointment, while smirking behind her glass. "There's no need to be embarrassed Cissy! Just because this bread roll is longer than Luci-"

"BELLA!"

Lowering his glass in confusion at his wife's sudden outburst, Lucius can only wonder what has caused Bellatrix to look so smug, while Narcissa looks so very offended.

Eyeing his wife's indignant posture with suspicion, he addresses the sisters somewhat coolly as he picks up a bread roll to butter.

"Am I missing something?"

Bellatrix nearly spits out her wine as she snorts, while Narcissa sends an apologetic look to him, the colour high in her cheeks.

Struggling to compose herself as she eyes the bread roll in Lucius' hand, Bellatrix cannot manage to stop her shoulders from shaking in mirth even as Narcissa scolds her from within her own mind.

"Funny you should ask, Lucius," she smirks amusedly, shooting a glance toward Narcissa, "I was under the assumption that you're missing _quite _a bit."

* * *

"I didn't think you'd come, mia Bella."

Rodolphus seems genuinely surprised to see her, and despite her initial steadfast refusals to come to France, his surprise irks Bellatrix for some reason.

"One can't kill blood-traitors _every_ night," she replies smoothly, oddly pleased by the amused grin that spreads across Rodolphus' face. "Besides," she continues, shifting her gaze to the dancing couples, "you never mentioned your parents were hosting a ball, Rodolphus," a questioning look entering her dark eyes.

"Would it have made a difference in convincing you to come here?"

Leaning back into Rodolphus' body as his stubble scratches her cheek, Bellatrix is somewhat surprised to find herself enjoying her husband's company.

"Probably," she muses, tilting her head to allow Rodolphus better access to her neck. "A ball means more alcohol at least, which certainly helps me tolerate your mother," she smirks, a low purr escaping her as Rodolphus nips her jaw in response. Arching her back sensuously against his body, she feels Rodolphus' grin against her skin as her movement enhances the dangerous swerves of her figure.

"Dance with me," he smiles devilishly even as he sweeps her gracefully out onto the floor; she, a vision in lacy, silken robes. As if on cue, the band strikes up the sensuous notes of a tango, taking the pair back to the balls of their youth.

"If you insist," she says languidly, the disinterest in her voice a stark contrast to the manner in which she presses herself against him; so that muscle and flesh are felt in every movement the other makes.

Gracefully entwining herself within her husband's arms, Bellatrix moves her mouth to Rodolphus' ear and catches the lobe between her teeth; greatly enjoying the shudder it causes in his body.

Growling slightly at his wife's teasing actions, Rodolphus twirls her around, spinning her tempting figure away from him. Arching an eyebrow at the movement, Bellatrix simply steps back into her husband's space neatly, nestling her body right into his as Rodolphus' hands trail her hips of their own accord.

She is, truthfully, somewhat surprised by the force with which he spins her from his body once more, but as she meets his gaze, she is far more surprised by the feelings the challenging glint in his eye evokes within her.

* * *

Madame Elyse Lestrange's lips draw together tightly as she watches her son and his wife dance; whirling around the floor so intensely that it might as well be an act of foreplay. Married or not, their dancing is hardly proper, she thinks darkly, as she takes note of the growing attention the passionate couple are attracting.

Signalling for the band to switch to a more modest waltz, Madame Lestrange is slightly mollified when the couple is forced to abandon their whirlwind movements, and far more pleased when they retreat from the dance floor to make their way to the refreshment table.

She assumes her daughter-in-law will make less of a spectacle of herself off of the dancefloor.

* * *

"I think your mother's about to have a stroke," Bellatrix says lightly, plucking a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter as she notes her mother-in-law's disapproving looks with amusement.

As Rodolphus opens his mouth to reply, a rakish glint bright in his eyes, a pretty blonde appears beside his wife and immediately engages her in conversation-a Rosier, he thinks, recognising her face vaguely.

Barely suppressing a growl of frustration at the sudden interruption, Rodolphus moves away from the women and surveys the rest of the guests; growing increasingly tense with each husky laugh he hears fly from his wife's lips. With her cheeks flushed and her curls somewhat tousled from their dancing, he has scarcely thought Bellatrix so beautiful or enticing.

The need to have her is all-consuming.

Bellatrix, for her part, is certainly aware of her husband's annoyance, and so is largely unsurprised when she feels him catch her around the waist some several moments later. The force with which he grips her is somewhat rough, though not entirely unpleasing, she thinks with a small smirk.

"Bellatrix," he whispers smoothly, his voice contradicted by his tensed body, "In five minutes, I intend to rip that dress off you and take you wherever I find you. If you'd rather that be somewhere less public, I suggest you make your excuses...Quickly."

He slides away from her, prowling throughout the ballroom like a panther after his prey; Bellatrix's dark eyes following his departure thoughtfully. Truth be told, she is rather impressed by this dominant side of her husband, and while she may not love him in the traditional sense of the word, she finds she can appreciate this primal side of him very much, as anticipation coils in the pit of her stomach.

Turning back to her cousin, she smiles sweetly.

"Excuse me."

* * *

At the same time that one Lestrange is leading his wife onto the dance floor, another is pulling his off. It is rather unfortunate that Renaud Lestrange chooses this precise moment to spin his wife, thus giving her a perfect view of Rodolphus and Bellatrix escaping out of the ballroom in what her son clearly supposes is a stealthy manner.

Half disgusted by her son's behaviour and hardly surprised by her daughter-in-law's, Madame Lestrange nevertheless finds she is somewhat unnerved when Bellatrix pauses suddenly, and turns around, as though having felt the glare from her mother-in-law. Rodolphus, for his part, looks ready to kill someone as Bellatrix remains in the ballroom, unmoved.

Apparently unfazed by the dirty looks she is now receiving from _two_ Lestranges, Bellatrix simply arches an eyebrow, and curls an arm around Rodolphus' lower back, dropping her hand to blatantly caress his behind with a challenging smirk before departing the ballroom; much to her husband's relief and her mother-in-law's mortification.

Indeed, when the couple return some forty-five minutes later, parting a sea of pointed looks and murmurs, Madame Lestrange steadfastly avoids making eye-contact with her brazen daughter-in-law, and tries with equal determination to ignore the fact that her son's lower lip is swollen considerably and that Bellatrix's hair is now in complete disarray.

**

* * *

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**A/N: I'm toying with the idea of a Bellatrix/Rodolphus oneshot to fill in the missing scene...I'm becoming increasingly fond of them together! Reviews are greatly appreciated so hit that button! :)**


	28. Conversations With Other Witches

**A/N: This is long, long, overdue, and for that, my apologies! Once again, a busy schedule, much rewriting and an absent muse are to blame. Also apologies if anyone seems OOC-though everyone's going to imagine characters/conversation/scenes differently so I guess it can't be helped. **

**Hope you all enjoy, this is def. one of the longest chapters I've written so hope that makes up for the long wait. :D**

**Also, many many thanks to , who I've bounced many ideas off of these past few weeks. **

**As always, thanks so much for your alerts/favs and **_**especially**_**, your reviews-they're really encouraging and insightful, and I appreciate them v. much. (Keep them coming! ;)) **

* * *

_"Faith is simultaneously long perseverance and unwavering confidence."_

_-Pierre-Yves Emery_

* * *

_October 30__th__, 1981._

"You've certainly _improved_."

Were he not her protégé, he suspects his newly developed abilities would be a source of irritation, rather than pride.

Watching as Bellatrix applies pressure to the bleeding wound on her leg, Barty can only grin in reply, heaving great gulps of air back into his aching lungs. A few months ago, he wouldn't have lasted two minutes in a duel with his mentor, and though he still has _quite_ a long way to go before he'll match her skills, he's confident that his technique has already improved considerably.

It certainly helps when your mentor in the Dark Arts is Bellatrix Lestrange, he thinks with a satisfied smirk.

"Still," Bellatrix muses thoughtfully, eyeing the number of wounds she inflicted on Barty in the course of their duel, "your defences aren't yet as strong as your offences..."

Stemming the flow of her own wound with nonverbally, she clucks her tongue in disappointment, and Barty feels a mixture of shame and determination flow through him.

"Still," she grins, lifting his spirits once more, "there's no time quite like the present, now is there...let's try the Imperius Curse again, shall we?"

Grinding his teeth slightly at the mere mention of the curse, Barty nods in agreement. The Imperius is undoubtedly the weakest chink in Barty's armour-despite all his best efforts and Bellatrix's teachings, he has yet to manage to throw off the curse. Few in the ranks actually _can, _from what he's heard, though this matters little to him, and seemingly, even less to Bellatrix.

Before he can ponder anymore upon this, and before he has truly readied himself for the oncoming curse, he hears Bellatrix's shout.

"Imperio!"

Instantly, Bartly feels as though he has been plunged underwater, and is being forcibly held down by some great weight.

"_Punch yourself in the face."_

The voice is smooth, almost soothing, and Barty feels an indescribable need to comply with the suggestion, though another voice in his head whispers that perhaps he shouldn't. The first voice, however, is far stronger, and a great deal more persuasive.

_Crack._

The sound of bone breaking reverberates throughout the room, though Barty remains foggy-eyed, awaiting his next command.

"At this rate, your nose might as well _stay_ broken," Bellatrix scowls, lifting the curse with an exasperated sigh.

At first, Barty only dully registers the throbbing of his nose, but as the fog around his brain clears, he feels the full extent of his own punch; unable to suppress a growl of frustration and pain.

"I don't understand," he snarls angrily, as Bellatrix heals his nose with a faintly amused smirk at his temper, "if I can master Occlumency, _why_ can't I do this?"

It's a question that Bellatrix has been asking herself for months, and one that she still hasn't found an adequate answer for.

Barty's outburst, however, reeks of petulance, which only serves to evoke Bellatrix's temper.

As Bellatrix slashes her wand through the air, Barty's Shield Charm is a mere second too late. A howl of indignation and pain flies from his lips as blood spills from the deep cut on his cheek.

Eyeing Bellatrix warily, he scowls, tightening the grip on his own wand. Pressing a hand to the wound, he stares, almost transfixed by the sight of his own blood, before meeting Bellatrix's gaze with an accusing glare.

"_Why can't I do this?" _she sneers, mocking him in a high-pitched, babyish voice, as she steps closer to him, eyes narrowed in malice.

"If I wished for my protégé to waste my time with his _whining_," she spits viciously, "I'd mentor my nephew." A smirk twists her lips as Barty feels his face flush with embarrassment.

"You," Bellatrix continues imperiously, "have potential." She begins circling him as she speaks, Barty listening intently to every word.

"You could be _great," _she whispers, a gleam of pride shining in her dark eyes.

"I-"

"Don't interrupt me!" she hisses, lifting her wand as a warning, and Barty, suitably chastised, presses his lips shut.

"You're different, Barty," she says slowly, almost ponderously, cocking her head to the side as she considers him.

"I'm not sure _you _know that, but _I _do." She moves toward him until her face is mere inches from his, her breath warm on his face as she breathes.

"You and I," she murmurs, reaching out to touch the cut on his face, "are different."

Barty cannot help the hiss that escapes his lips as Bellatrix presses his wound almost curiously, though he finds himself leaning toward her touch, rather than away from it.

Bellatrix smiles at the movement.

"The Dark Lord is only a day away from taking over the Wizarding World," she declares, excitement edging her words slightly, "but it's easy to have followers when you're in a position of power," she muses, tracing her fingertip back and forth across the still bleeding cut.

A thrum of anger courses throughout Barty at Bellatrix's words; the thought of people using the Dark Lord setting his teeth on edge.

"I have confidence in the Dark Lord's ability to discern his _true _followers from those who are using him...for other means," he spits in disgust.

Bellatrix nods in agreement, her eyes meeting Barty's feverish gaze. "Still," she murmurs darkly, "it is only those who would go to the ends of the Earth for our Master, those who would not rest if his position were usurped, if He fell..."

A haunted look crosses her face at the mere thought, one Barty is sure his own countenance mirrors. Of course, each knows there is little chance of such a nightmare actually coming to pass, but nevertheless, the very _notion_ sends a trickle of fear down each of their spines.

"_I _would not rest!" Barty declares fiercely, passion and conviction ringing in his tone.

"I know," Bellatrix says confidently, brushing a lock of hair out off Barty's eyes in a rare gesture of tenderness. "I told you, we're _different."_

* * *

"I'm sorry, Bellatrix," Barty says quietly, watching as she paces back and forth.

She sighs, slowing her steps, and turns to face him properly.

"You really _can't_ do it, can you?"

He feels no need to respond, given the rhetorical nature of the question.

Bellatrix runs a hand through her curls, a deep frown marring her aristocratic features. "There's not much else either one of us can do about this," she murmurs unhappily. "Perhaps if the Dark Lord were to teach you himself..."

"I do not wish Him to know of my ineptitude," Barty says quickly, rising to feet. The thought of failing, over and _over _and _over_ in front of his Master is simply mortifying. It's shameful enough in front of Bellatrix.

"I can continue learning to resist it," he continues, a faint note of desperation entering his voice. He can't disappoint the Dark Lord...he just _can't. _

Arching an eyebrow in thought, Bellatrix nods. "Perhaps," she responds slowly, "improvement _may _come with time...though between you and I, I have my doubts."

"I suppose you'll just have to avoid getting Imperiused till then, won't you?" she asks witheringly, a wry grin playing around her mouth nevertheless.

"Given that the war's almost over, I doubt that'll be difficult," he smirks in response, his laugh mingling with that of Bellatrix's.

"Don't be so sure about that," she says smoothly, curling an arm around his shoulders as they leave the training hall.

"After all, once there're no blood-traitors or Muggleborns left to kill, I might find myself rather bored," she pouts devilishly, though amusement dances in her dark eyes.

"My Shield Charms are quick," Barty grins challengingly, quirking an eyebrow in response.

"But not quick enough," Bellatrix smirks, clicking her teeth near Barty's ear threateningly before she Apparates with a loud crack; leaving Barty to wonder fleetingly if his mentor would prefer him master the Imperius or not.

* * *

"You're projecting, Bella," Voldemort murmurs, not bothering to look up from the potions he is examining.

Caught off-guard, Bellatrix fights to control the rising blush in her cheeks before he turns to face her. She'd been so busy watching the Dark Lord, taking this rare opportunity to note every little detail about him, that she hadn't realised she'd been airing her thoughts so freely.

"I trust young Barty is continuing to make progress?" Voldemort asks languidly, peering at the contents of a potions vial with a satisfied smirk.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think him determined to best me," Bellatrix says with some semblance of fondness, though Voldemort recognises the challenging note present in her tone.

It's rather amusing.

"And yet..."

"You hesitate," Voldemort hisses, placing the vial atop the table.

"Despite my best efforts...and _his_, he has yet to master the Imperius Curse," Bellatrix responds with a faint air of exasperation.

Arching an eyebrow in thought, Voldemort drums his long fingers against the table. "He can perform the Curse, surely?" he asks coolly.

"Yes-yes of course," Bellatrix says hurriedly, half fearful that the Dark Lord will think her a poor teacher. "He shows great skill in that area-it's _throwing_ _off_ the Curse that he has some...problems...with," she says hesitantly.

"Indeed," Voldemort comments thoughtfully-he's only faintly surprised by this information-having lived under his father's stern rule, Barty is nothing if not obedient, Voldemort thinks slightly ruefully. It would certainly be a shame if the talents of a promising wizard like Barty could be scuppered by a mere _Imperius_.

"And you feel you have taught the boy to the best of your ability?" he asks, turning to face Bellatrix for the first time since their conversation started.

"I do, My Lord," she answers firmly, and Voldemort sees no hint of a lie in her dark eyes. He supposes He'll just have to instruct Barty himself-one way or another, he _will _master the Curse, Voldemort will make sure of that, he decides.

Nodding in response to his servant's answer, he considers Bellatrix for a moment, eyeing her with the same intensity as she had watched him.

He can almost feel her pulse quicken.

"Something you wish to ask, Bella?" he says, half amused, half-irritated by the request he knows is about to be put forward.

Lifting her head a little higher, Bellatrix nods, a steely determination to her stance.

"I would be most honoured if you would allow me accompany you tomorrow night, My Lord," she says smoothly, exuding a certain elegance that Voldemort finds quite becoming. Evidently, Bellatrix's upbringing as a Black schooled her well in making polite requests of great importance.

The request itself, however, is not quite as pleasing as the manner in which it is delivered.

"You think I require your presence to kill an infant, Bellatrix?"

The dangerously cool tone serves as a warning to Bellatrix, who certainly does not miss the use of her full name. Of _course_ she doesn't think he'd need her help, but nevertheless, she cannot quell the desire to accompany her Master and see his victory firsthand.

Though she bows her head slightly, Bellatrix does not adopt a more humble tone-if she is to make a plea of such magnitude, she will do so with her customary strength, rather than appearing weak. She knows Voldemort would prefer it so.

"I think nothing of the sort, Master!" she says with conviction, willing him to see the truth for himself within the confines of her mind if need be.

"I only wish to be there when your victory is confirmed," she continues, not breaking eye contact with Voldemort. "I confess...it would please me greatly," she says with a slight smile.

Though Bellatrix's request is an understandable one-why _shouldn't _she wish to accompany her Master after all?-Voldemort does not consider her words for long. This victory is to be seized by him, and him _alone_; he has no intention of sharing his glory with _anyone_-not even one of his most skilled lieutenants. In any case, he reasons, Bellatrix's presence might easily become a distraction if she were to become too excitable at the wrong moment.

_Celebrating_ his victory, however, is an entirely different matter, he thinks with a smirk.

"Your presence is not required," Voldemort says matter of factly, "and therefore, you will not accompany me to the Potters." He pauses for a moment, eyeing Bellatrix's features for any hint of defiance before continuing.

"Instead, you will remain behind, with the rest of the Death Eaters." Circling Bellatrix at a leisurely pace, he can almost see his triumphant return now.

"While my Death Eaters wait for me, I shall fulfil the prophecy, and will return to celebrate my victory," he continues, speaking as much to himself as he is to Bellatrix.

"With the exception of a few in the Inner Circle, the ranks will be under the assumption that they are being assembled for a Halloween _celebration _before I see to the Potters...Muggle hunting and the like..." he says with a languid wave of his hand as he thinks.

The less people that know of the precise moment he'll strike, the better. He's always loved the element of surprise, in any case, and to return in such a victorious manner...it will be simply beautiful.

"You will reinforce their assumption, as will the others I have informed of my true intentions," he says commandingly, and Bellatrix gives a nod in response, still rather uncharacteristically silent and apparently considering something with unease.

"Do I sense..._dissent_?" he hisses, anger clearly present in his scarlet eyes.

"With respect, My Lord," Bellatrix says quietly, not quite meeting his eyes, "I was merely wondering if you propose to tell Snape of your...true intentions," she asks slowly.

"While I appreciate the rare effort at being subtle," Voldemort says with an air of condescension, "you'd do far better to speak clearly and avoid trying my patience."

"I don't think you should tell Snape," Bellatrix says, the words flying from her lips as though relieved to be free from confinement.

From her position on his seat, Nagini gives a long hiss-though whether it is in agreement or disapproval, Bellatrix can't tell.

With an arched eyebrow, Voldemort gestures for Bellatrix to continue; neither agreeing with nor disputing her statement.

"I don't believe he can be trusted," she says, beginning to pace back and forth as she speaks. "The way he guards his mind, his behaviour...There's something about him..." Frustration bright in her eyes, she runs a hand through her dark curls, wishing she could voice her concerns properly.

"I can't put my finger on it..." she finishes, turning to meet Voldemort's gaze.

"Severus has done nothing to warrant my suspicions," Voldemort says calmly, though the fierce intensity of Bellatrix's words does interest him. He supposes it has much to do with Severus' ascension through the ranks in spite of his blood status, and the trust Voldemort has come to place in him.

"He's a highly skilled Occlumens," Bellatrix reminds him, albeit in a quieter, more delicate tone; no doubt aware that her words will evoke Voldemort's anger, yet seemingly willing to risk such wrath. Snape's expression is usually unreadable, and therefore, treacherous in Bellatrix's opinion.

"You think him skilled enough to fool Lord Voldemort?" he asks menacingly, taking a step toward Bellatrix.

"You think him a greater Occlumens than I am a Legilimens?"

"No!" Bellatrix says quickly, bowing her head slightly as a gesture of respect, half-expecting a _Crucio_ to come her way. Colour high in her cheeks, she hears the Dark Lord's hiss of anger before she feels his presence in her mind; memories being dragged forward.

_Narcissa eyeing her wounds, concern shining in her blue eyes. __"He says love is a weakness...but how can it be?"_

_Sirius' chest pressed up against her own. "So you still have a heart then..."_

_Voldemort trailing kisses along her spine._

_Rodolphus pressing her against the wall roughly, dragging her skirts up with one hand as she bites his lip with a breathless laugh._

_Severus smirking at her mockingly as she fails to break his Occlumency barriers. "Keep trying, Bellatrix. Your efforts amuse me."_

_Snape's face turning pale at the mention of the Potters. Bellatrix noticing with a frown._

"_I hope he kills that Mudblood." A nerve twitches almost imperceptibly in Snape's jaw._

Biting her lip to keep from wincing outwardly as Voldemort ends his assault through her thoughts, Bellatrix risks lifting her eyes toward her Master.

"My Lord?" she asks tentatively, eyeing Voldemort with some caution, it must be said. A part of her fervently wishes that he hadn't seen some of those memories, but there's little she can do to change the fact that he has.

Upon getting no response, Bellatrix steels herself, and continues to speak softly. "Forgive me if I offended you My Lord, that was not my intention...I merely feared that if Snape were to have knowledge of when you intend to kill the Potter boy..."

She looks to Voldemort once again, half wondering if she's merely worsening the situation for herself, but with no hint of emotion on her Master's face, it's somewhat difficult to tell.

However, desire to ensure the Dark Lord's victory overrides her sense of self-preservation.

"I implore you Master, do _not _tell Snape about your true intentions tomorrow night...do not risk your victory!" she pleads, unable to keep the sense of urgency from her voice. At least then Snape won't have an opportunity to undo the Dark Lord's victory if her suspicions _are _correct, she reasons.

* * *

If Bellatrix weren't one of his most trusted and skilled Death Eaters, Voldemort isn't entirely sure what he would have done to her for such insolence, however well intentioned her words were.

To warn him as though she were intellectually superior! To speak so boldly without consideration!

He's torn between wanting to Crucio her for daring to instruct him on anything, and praise her for her obvious desire to ensure nothing stands in the way of his victory.

He decides to do both.

Moving toward her swiftly, he tangles a hand in her hair and kisses her savagely, smirking as his mouth smothers her surprised gasp. Even as Bellatrix leans into his frame, clutching handfuls of his cloak in her hands, he presses the tip of his wand against her chest and utters a non-verbal _Crucio._

Almost instantly, her body thrashes in his grip and she moans against his lips; half in pain, half in pleasure.

The effect is intoxicating.

He holds the curse for another few moments before ending it, biting her lip before he releases her mouth from his.

Panting slightly, Bellatrix can only stare wide-eyed at her Master, almost dizzy from the combination of enduring the Cruciatus and having shared such a forceful kiss. She suspects she was just punished _and _rewarded at the same time, though Voldemort's expression is somewhat emotionless once more.

"My Lord?" she asks breathily, fingering the newly acquired cut on her lip as she speaks.

The sight of blood atop Bellatrix's pale fingertip is almost hypnotising.

"My most faithful," he murmurs, suddenly seeing a younger Bellatrix before him-one he envisaged forging into a formidable weapon; one eager to learn and prove herself even as a seductive, lustful gleam lurked beneath her dark gaze.

Little has changed over the years, he muses.

He watches Bellatrix's lips curl into a smile before she opens her mouth to respond.

"Excuse me, My Lord I-"

Lucius' voice cuts through the moment and Voldemort can hardly contain a smirk as he notices the man shrink back from the force of Bellatrix's furious glare.

"Lucius," he says calmly, "punctual as ever, my friend."

"My Lo-" Bellatrix begins, an array of emotions swirling in her eyes.

"Lord Voldemort has considered your request, Bella," he says commandingly, "and _this_ time...I will grant it."

Though Bellatrix has provided him with little evidence to back up her suspicions, he supposes there is little harm in not providing Severus with such information. While he doesn't appreciate Bellatrix's opinions enough to be entirely swayed by them, tomorrow night is certainly not the occasion to test Severus' loyalty. He trusts the opinion of very few, this is true, but Bellatrix has performed admirably enough in the past for him to at least see the sense behind her words.

Visibly relieved, Bellatrix falls to her knees, pressing her lips to the hem of his robes.

"Thank you, Master," she breathes, unable to quell the feeling of pride rising within her-obviously the Dark Lord values her opinion and trusts her enough to reconsider his opinion of Snape! She fights to contain a pleased smile at the thought.

"Dismissed," Voldemort hisses, noting the faint air of contentment around his servant as she nods, and strides out of the room, head held as high as ever.

Voldemort waits till Bellatrix has closed the door behind her before turning to gaze at Lucius.

"Lucius, old friend," he says slowly, reaching into his robes as he speaks.

Placing a rather tattered diary atop the table, he notes the mix of curiosity and confusion in Lucius' mind.

"I am entrusting you with something truly great..."

* * *

**A/N: So...I may have stretched things by having Bellatrix warn Voldemort not to tell Snape, but I figured if Snape **_**had **_**known about when Voldemort was going to attack the Potters, he'd probably have done something to prevent it...just my take on things! Next chapter's pretty much already written, so review and it'll be up asap! **

**Hope you all enjoyed :)**


	29. Halloween, 1981

**A/N: *drumroll* So here it is folks...the moment many of you have been waiting for! (Don't forget that this is purely my interpretation of that fateful night-with so little info from Canon, everyone imagines this scene differently, I'm sure. In other words, I'm very antsy that this will disappoint :O )**

**I should also point out that I've chosen to divide this chapter into two parts, purely because of the length of this chapter-just incase any of you would feel cheated by the ending of this update. ;)**

**Hope you all enjoy, and as usual, many many thanks for your continued reading+reviewing-I **_**really**_** do appreciate your thoughts/ideas/insights. :D**

**p.s. If anyone wants a soundtrack for this and the next few angsty chapters, I suggest 'Nara' by E.S. Posthumus...it's what I listened to as I wrote this, and if I could have a soundtrack for this entire fic, it'd most definitely be track #1. **

* * *

"_Each man is the architect of his own fate."_

_~Appius Claudius._

* * *

_October 31__st__, 1981._

It seems fitting that Voldemort should secure his victory on this particular evening; a time of celebration, when magic is at its very strongest. Even Muggles seem to be celebrating tonight, much to his disgust-surely Halloween should be an occasion for the Wizarding World solely?

His lip curls in a sneer as he spots two Muggle children dressed up as witches, clutching broomsticks in one hand, and their pointed hats in the other. How utterly..._pathetic._ It strikes him as rather odd that after centuries of persecuting witches and wizards, Muggles think it entertainment to dress up like them.

Moving onwards up the street, he notices with malicious amusement that the girls are moving toward him, almost _skipping_, he notes disgustedly. One, obviously the braver of the two, pauses when only a few feet away, her eyes wide as she takes in what she assumes is a costume.

Gazing up at him through long eyelashes, she smiles widely, gesturing toward his cloak.

"What're you 'posed to be?" she lisps, curiosity bright in her eyes. The other girl is warier, remaining a few steps behind her friend.

If he thought he could kill the girls without alerting the Potters of his presence, he's quite certain he would. Instead, he simply smirks, his hood hiding his face from the young girls.

"I'm a wizard," he hisses coldly.

Eyeing the child disdainfully, Voldemort watches as she places her hat atop her head once more, a delighted smile breaking out across her face.

"I'm a witch!" she declares proudly, and behind her, her friend nods quickly in agreement, smiling shyly.

Voldemort can only imagine what Bellatrix would say if she were here. The thought causes him to chuckle slightly, and her plea to accompany him tonight suddenly echoes in his ears. Though he by no means requires her assistance in killing the Potters, her reaction to the Muggle children would certainly have been highly entertaining.

Thoughts of how he'll celebrate his victory enter his mind, and he finds Bellatrix's presence is required for a great number of the ideas in his head.

_"My Lord, surely you know by now that I am __always __ready." _

Yes...there'll be plenty of time to celebrate later, he muses, smirking at the faint memory of Bellatrix's words, all those months ago.

Leaning down so he is face to face with the children, Voldemort draws his wand from his robes, a cruel smile playing about his mouth as he notes their amazement. His sharp eye doesn't miss the look of desire in the talkative girl's eye as she follows the movement of his wand.

It inspires a cold, and altogether dangerous rage within him.

"No," he hisses furiously, startling the girl with his angry tone. "You're _not _a witch. You're a pathetic little _Muggle_," he spits.

Frightened tears welling in her eyes, the girl pouts at him, pointing a chubby finger at him.

"Well _you're_ not a wizard!" she cries indignantly, even as her friend's eyes widen with nerves.

Laughing coldly, Voldemort draws back his hood, his scarlet eyes glowing menacingly. Oh, he'll simply _have_ to return with Bellatrix later.

"Are you..._quite_ sure about that?" he asks threateningly, revelling in the terrified faces of the children before him.

Horribly transfixed by the sight before them, the girls remain frozen till Voldemort points his wand toward them, a maniacal glow in his eyes.

"_Run_," he hisses, and much to his amusement, the children tear off in the opposite direction, running as fast as their short legs will carry them.

Eyeing the abandoned broomsticks and hats on the floor, Voldemort can only sneer in disgust as he continues moving toward the Potter's house.

"_Children_," he spits viciously.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Lily, he's going to be a Seeker," James says proudly, lifting his son high above his shoulders.

Leaning against the door frame, Lily arches an eyebrow. "And what if he has no interest in Quidditch?" she challenges with a knowing smile.

Looking aghast at the mere suggestion, James arches an eyebrow of his own. "He's a _Potter_," he points out. "It's in his blood," he grins, ruffling Harry's hair with pride.

As though irritated by such a gesture, Harry reaches out with a pudgy hand and smacks James in the face, squealing happily as he knocks his father's glasses sideways.

"Maybe you're right," Lily comments with a smirk; trying and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice. "He could be a Beater," she suggests wryly, hiding her amused grin behind her hand.

Placing Harry into his crib with a rueful smile, James adjusts his glasses and moves toward his wife.

"Potters have too much..._finesse_...to be Beaters," he says smoothly, a suggestive glint bright in his eye as he runs his hands along Lily's sides; smirking at the slight shiver his touch evokes.

"Is that so?" she murmurs, chuckling as James nods confidently; an arrogant grin playing about his mouth.

Slipping out of his grasp, Lily backs out of the room, flashing James a teasing smile.

"Time to play Chaser," she challenges with an arched brow, before turning on her heel and running downstairs; her husband's laughter and footsteps following her.

* * *

"Caught you," James smirks triumphantly, grabbing his wife around her waist.

"And Gryffindor wins!" Lily laughs, twisting away and throwing herself onto the sofa, patting the space next to her as an indication that James should join her.

Pressing a kiss to Lily's hair as she rests her head upon his shoulder, James breathes a sigh of contentment.

"Happy Halloween," he says quietly, lacing his wife's fingers through his own.

"Trick or treat?" Lily asks suggestively, lifting her head to meet her husband's gaze.

A slow smile spreading over his face, James captures Lily's lips with his own hungrily, burying a hand in her flame-coloured tresses.

"Treat," he murmurs in between kisses.

"Definitely treat."

* * *

Twirling his wand through his fingers, Voldemort cannot help but feel a rush of excitement when the the Potter's house appears, just as Pettigrew had described it; the Fidelius Charm having been rendered useless by his information.

Eyeing the house thoughtfully, Voldemort pauses for a moment.

After tonight, the Wizarding World will lie within the palm of his hand, and none will dare oppose him. Perhaps then, Albus Dumbledore will recognise the futility of his efforts, and realise that no-one, _no-one_, is capable of defeating the Heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort.

"_You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?_"

A triumphant smirk twists his lips at the memory. Surely there is no other word for what he has accomplished, for the power he has inspired within his Death Eaters, for the skills and knowledge he has nurtured and bestowed upon them.

Yes, he ponders, 'greatness' sums up what he's done, quite accurately, in fact.

All his work, all his patience, his planning...it has come to this.

Three times the Potters have defied him...three times, he muses.

No longer, he thinks viciously, moving forward swiftly.

Opening the creaky gate with a flick of his wand, he grins.

The time has come.

* * *

"That's not going to help him sleep, James."

It's truly a poor attempt at scolding her husband, since Lily's unable to suppress a smile at the wide eyes of her son; James causing coloured sparks to rain down upon him with a swirl of his wand.

"It's Halloween," James says easily, levitating a number of Harry's toys around his head, chuckling at Harry's gurgles of delight. "It's a night to celebrate," he continues, turning to meet his wife's eyes with a smirk.

"Not if you're a one year old," Lily says wryly, leaning down to pick up her son, faintly amused by the fact that Harry seems less disappointed than James to have to abandon their game.

"Stop sulking," she giggles, as James tosses his wand to the other end of the sofa, "and come give Harry a kiss goodnight," she orders, a twinkle shining in her green eyes.

Grumbling good-naturedly at her command, he rises to his feet, pressing a kiss to the top of his son's head. Following his wife out of the living room, James pauses in the hallway as Lily moves into the kitchen, looking for Harry's blanket.

He's just about to offer taking Harry upstairs himself when he pauses, turning toward their front door slowly, a niggling feeling in his gut.

There is no mistaking the creak of their gate as it is swings shut, banging slightly in the wind.

He turns on his heel, intending to dash into the living room and get his wand, but as he watches the lock of the front door turn silently, he realises there's no time.

For a split second, he feels as though he's moving underwater, that time has slowed to a nauseating crawl.

And then, just like that, the door handle begins to turn, and he snaps back into action, adrenaline coursing through his veins. If he can hold Voldemort off, delay him...distract him...Lily might have a chance to take Harry and escape.

"Lily!" he yells desperately, and dimly he registers the sound of a glass breaking in the kitchen as it slips from Lily's grasp. "Take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

His throat constricts as the door is pushed open fully, and his dark eyes meet scarlet.

With a gasp, Lily reappears in the hallway for a split second, her green eyes searching frantically to make contact with those of her husband, before she runs upstairs; gone in a flash of red hair.

"Hello...Potter," Voldemort hisses, twirling his wand through his long fingers, taking great delight in the smell of fear in the air. "It's been a while."

* * *

"You," James snarls viciously, "will _not _harm my son."

An icy feeling courses down his spine as Voldemort gives a slow, cold chuckle, a wide smile twisting his thin lips.

"I _will_," Voldemort says pointedly, "but amuse me, Potter, how do you hope to stop me?" He steps forward toward James, and despite his relaxed posture, it is a menacing gesture all the same.

"You have no wand," Voldemort says condescendingly, watching as James bristles with a mix of anger and fear, "and thus, you will die, by my hand, here tonight."

"At least my wife and son will be safe," James growls, lifting his head higher as he squares his shoulders in a mark of courage. "If I am to die, at least I die knowing that."

Another high pitched laugh simply flies from Voldemort's lips at James' words. "Do you _truly _think me that unprepared?"

This time, as he steps forward, James does so also, defiance shining bright in his eyes. A Gryffindor through and through, Voldemort thinks with disgust, even as a small part of him acknowledges, and indeed, admires, his opponent's bravery.

"There is no way of escaping, Potter," he continues patronisingly. "As your wife has no doubt already discovered, I've taken the liberty of disabling all Portkeys, and thrown up Anti-Apparition wards."

Much to Voldemort's amusement, all colour seems to drain from James' face. How wonderfully entertaining.

"I certainly have _much_ to thank your friend Pettigrew for," he says with mock satisfaction, and James hands curl into fists at his words; his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"You bastard," James whispers, half numb with shock. "What did you DO to him?" he roars, the blood pounding in his ears. Not Peter, he thinks. Not another friend...

"Such _fury_," Voldemort hisses amusedly, "and yet...so _very_ misplaced." Twirling his wand once more, he smirks. "Perhaps you should have stuck with Black," he suggests cruelly, knowing such words are greater torture than any Crucio could inflict.

Thoughts running wild, James can only stare at Voldemort. Blindly, he shakes his head-surely Voldemort's lying-Peter would never betray them, he thinks desperately. He must have been tortured into revealing their location, lying dead even now...

"You're lying," he says hoarsely, his voice thick with sorrow and disbelief. "Pet-"

"I grow _tired_ of this, Potter," Voldemort says with cool boredom, raising his wand to point at James' chest. "I do, after all, have a prophecy to fulfil," he says evilly, grinning as James' mouth opens in a cry of protest-one that is ultimately, cut short.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

The words seem to taste even sweeter tonight, for some reason. With satisfaction, Voldemort watches as the body of James Potter falls to the ground; his unseeing eyes full of grief for the ensuing deaths he cannot prevent.

* * *

After trying numerous unsuccessful attempts to activate a Portkey, and finding herself unable to disapparate, Lily remains trapped in the nursery, clutching her son to her chest desperately.

She has no defence, having left her wand downstairs, and curses herself for such casual behaviour during such dangerous times. Without it, she feels horribly vulnerable, like a rat cornere-...

...Obviously the Fidelius Charm had not been enough protection.

A locked door won't keep Voldemort out of the nursery.

Harry, as though sensing his mother's worry, lets out a small sniff, his bottom lip jutting out, and beginning to wobble precariously.

Making a half-hearted attempt to soothe her son, looking into eyes identical to her own, Lily exhales a shaky breath of air, trying to keep her tears of frustration and panic at bay.

She hears a triumphant, almost inhuman cry of a Killing Curse, and literally feels as though she takes the jet of light herself.

Heart in her throat, she clutches Harry tighter to herself as though her grasp will be enough to shield him from Voldemort's cruel intentions.

She ignores the voice in her head that shrieks her efforts will be futile.

* * *

Having reached the top of the stairs, Voldemort pauses, wondering idly if Lily Potter has a wand with which to try and protect her son-not that it would make much difference anyway. Eyes flickering around his surroundings with a mix of anticipation and impatience, he hisses, eager to look Harry Potter in the eye and watch the light of life fade from his gaze.

He can almost _taste _victory.

A tell-tale sniffle is all he needs to hear to know of their location, and with a smirk, he turns right, striding toward the end of the hallway; barely slowing his pace as he reaches the only closed door.

With a simple flick of his wand, he blasts the door off its hinges, Lily Potter having turned her back to him to protect her child from the force of the blast.

Sheer impatience gnaws at his gut, and irritated by the delay of his victory, he hisses furiously as the red-haired witch places her son in his crib and then stands in front of it; shielding him from Voldemort's path.

Her long red hair tumbling over her shoulders, Lily's bright green eyes meet the scarlet eyes of Voldemort; a feat that few have the courage to truly do.

Her defiant posture, however, seems to inwardly crumble as Voldemort outstretches his wand-the wand that killed James only moments ago, she thinks fleetingly, desperation and fear clouding her mind.

Abandoning all pride, she begs, unable to fathom the idea of losing her son _and_ her husband.

"Please, not Harry...Have mercy, have mercy," she pleads; knowing deep down that a wizard like Voldemort shows no mercy to anyone. She doubts he even understands the true meaning of the word, and yet, a furious desire to protect her son causes her to ignore these rational thoughts.

"_My Lord, I beg you, please...__spare her__, and I will never again make a request from you...I have been faithful, My Lord..."_

As he eyes the witch before him with ever-increasing impatience, Severus Snape's plea enters his mind...with the information he has brought, Voldemort decides to grant his servant's request.

He's only moments away from fulfilling the Prophecy.

Complete immortality is merely an infant's life away.

He can't wait any longer for it.

"Stand aside silly girl, stand aside," Voldemort encourages quickly, his serpentine voice filled with both urgency and desire.

Stand aside?

Lily sees the hunger burning in those scarlet eyes, the impatient, needy sense of desire that seems to seep from Voldemort's very being. A madman seeking to murder a one-year old, simply because of a Seer's words...

Stand aside? Stand aside, and let a monster kill her son? She'll die herself before she'll even _consider _such a notion.

Voldemort can almost see the refusal swell in Lily Potter's eyes.

"No, not Harry, please, take me instead!" she cries desperately, shifting to hide her son from view.

It is truly a curious thing, Lily Potter's willingness to give her life for her son's. Emitting a hiss that Lily could have sworn resembled an exasperated sigh, he notes the stubborn tilt of her jaw even as she begs for death in place of her son. He gave her a chance already to stand aside and save herself, he muses with impatience, and she ignored his warning. Still though...her sacrifice is _curious._ He finds himself genuinely unable to understand such an instinct.

Raising his wand to end Lily Potter's life, he wonders idly if Severus will believe that he tried to respect his request. No matter, he thinks almost immediately-after tonight, Severus Snape will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams, and forget entirely about the Mudblood.

Watching Voldemort raise his wand, Lily can almost see the mix of curiosity and disdain in those scarlet orbs. And it's _then_, _then_ she realises her foolish assumption that even someone like _Voldemort_ could understand the nature of love.

It's why her pleas had no impact, she realises; why her request for him to take her and spare her son had seemed to garner such curiosity and exasperation. Voldemort simply can't understand the ease with which she'd sacrifice her life for Harry's-or why she'd do it without hesitation-he can't understand the notion of loving someone so much you'd die for them.

She knows with great certainty that once Voldemort's killed her, he'll move onto her defenceless son, and there's absolutely _nothing _she can do to prevent it.

Even as Voldemort's mouth forms the _Avada Kedavra,_ even as a terrible scream of grief flies from her lips, all she can think about is how she'd give her life ten times over if it meant Harry could live. And as the Killing Curse hits her square in the chest, she finds love is _all_ she can think about-her love for her son...and how it won't be enough to save him.

* * *

**A/N: I fully intended having the Potter/Voldemort showdown and Voldemort's 'death' happen in one chapter, but given the length of this update already, it seemed a good place to stop. The scenes of James/Lily fluff just took on a mind of their own, I guess, as did the little moments of introspection. Mostly though, I didn't want to rush the Voldemort/Harry showdown, or just throw it in casually at the end. Next update has yet to be written (Bella and friends will be back-it's ridiculous how much I missed them after only one chapter!) but I'll try to have it up within a week, so till then...get reviewing! ;)**


	30. It's the End of the World as We Know It

**A/N: **Yiiiiikes. Apologies once again for the delay in updating, my muse left me high and dry for quite some time. Also, I rewrote this chapter a crazy amount of times, which didn't help the updating process any. On the upside, though, this is BY FAR the longest chapter I've ever written, so I hope that'll gain forgiveness ;)

Reviews continue to make my day/week so keep them coming! (They've been decreasing of late, which isn't an entirely uplifting feeling..)

My sincere thanks to those who've reviewed so consistently and so wonderfully-I appreciate it very much, so I dedicate this especially to _Inkfire, xoxcrescentmoonxox, _and _Mrs. GingerHinkley_.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Hope is the denial of reality._

_~Margaret Weis._

* * *

"Your sister-in-law certainly seems in high spirits," Snape remarks slowly, a hint of curiosity shining in his black eyes as the echo of Bellatrix's laugh dies away.

With a half-exasperated chuckle, Lucius nods, following his friend's stare toward the raven-haired witch. Taking a languid sip of his wine, he smirks. "It may have slipped your notice, but it _is_ a night to celebrate, Severus!" he says with an arched eyebrow, raising his goblet to salute the man seated next to him.

"Halloween?" Severus comments skeptically, raising his own goblet with a faintly amused look at Lucius' rather rare jovial nature. "_Halloween _inspires such...high spirits_?_"

"Well," Lucius smirks knowingly, tracing the rim of his goblet idly, "not _just_ Halloween."

Stiffening slightly in his seat, Severus' arm freezes halfway to his mouth, a horrible realisation beginning to dawn upon him. Forcing a casual air, he places his goblet atop the table once more; fingers tightening around its handle.

"Enlighten me, won't you?" he asks quietly, pasting a tight smile upon his face as he turns to face his friend.

Grinning slyly, Lucius leans in conspiratorially, dropping his voice to low murmur.

"This _was _meant to be for the ears of His inner ranks only..." he says, eyeing Severus with an almost wary expression in his grey eyes, "but I doubt it'll make much difference at this stage anyway," he says with a pleased smirk; beads of sweat pricking Severus' brow as he listens to Lucius' words.

"The Dark Lord," Lucius says slowly, pausing to glance over his shoulder before continuing, "seeks to fulfil the Prophecy _tonight_...perhaps seizing His victory even as we _speak_."

His theory confirmed, Severus swallows the lump of panic in his throat; his gaze drifting around the room almost of its own accord. Knowing what he knows now, it is far easier to identify those who the Dark Lord had told of His true intentions-the Inner Circle united in a giddy, almost feverish anticipation. His pulse roaring in his ears, he dimly registers the sound of Lucius' voice again.

"A night to celebrate, no?" Lucius is saying.

Severus can only stare hopelessly in response.

* * *

Stepping over the body of Lily Potter without sparing it a second glance, Voldemort's gaze never leaves the face of young Harry Potter-the infant prophesised to be his downfall.

The child doesn't even seem to comprehend that his death is eminent, simply meeting Voldemort's cold eyes with a calm, almost curious gaze, astonishingly unfazed by the traumatic events he has borne witness to tonight.

Now that he has finally come face to face with his enemy, Voldemort realises he could scarcely have imagined the ease with which his victory came about tonight. _This_ was to be the wizard that would end his reign? _This_ was to be the greatest threat the Light Side would have at their disposal?

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."_

Voldemort gives a long chuckle at the memory of the words Severus had reported, for how could this infant-the child of a blood-traitor and a _Mudblood_, no less-ever match the strength and skill of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin?

Seers do truly voice some far-fetched notions, he muses, with almost a flash of irritation; absent-mindedly noting his intention to hear the Prophecy in full from Sybil Trelawney herself once he's fulfilled it, of course. It would be rather amusing, perhaps even interesting to hear what she had foreseen all those months ago, he thinks, twirling his wand slowly through his long fingers.

In fact, it may very well make his victory taste all the sweeter.

As he raises his wand to end Harry Potter's life, Voldemort cannot help but feel a miniscule stab of envy at the sheer fearlessness on his foe's face; though of course, it is most likely comprised entirely of ignorance of what is to come. Still though, to face down Death with such acceptance of his own mortality...

Voldemort dismisses the traitorous thoughts as quickly as they came, triumph and satisfaction whirling around the pit of his stomach. Death will scarcely be an issue for him from now on, after all.

He raises his wand a fraction higher, meeting the unblinking gaze of the infant with a determined glare of his own.

He opens his mouth, the words that will bring about the fall of the Light Side forming on his tongue.

Immortality.

He can taste it already.

* * *

"Can you imagine," Rodolphus whispers enticingly, pressing his words into her curls, "the Wizarding World at our feet?"

Bellatrix simply sighs happily, her gaze fixed upon the Mark shining proudly on her arm. This was precisely what she'd envisioned all those years ago, when she'd first heard whispers of the Dark Lord and his intentions-the night on which He and his Death Eaters would reign supreme, as well as the changes his era would reap.

No more Mudbloods tainting schools and marriages...No more half-bloods reaching beyond their status...just Purebloods in power and all the benefits that come with such noble lineage.

She can only hope that the Dark Lord will provide her with an active role in the process of expelling Mudbloods from the Wizarding World-or wiping them out entirely, as she'd prefer...and Bellatrix knows _exactly_ which Mudblood will be the first to die by her wand; his name and face forever imprinted on her mind.

In spite of her previous happiness, she can't help but scowl viciously at the memories conjured up by _that _name, even as she simultaneously scolds herself for allowing them to taint this joyous occasion.

As if sensing the shift in her mood, Rodolphus draws back slightly, studying his wife momentarily.

"Sickle for your thoughts," he murmurs, curious to know what-or indeed, _who_-has inspired Bellatrix's sudden threatening look; her hands tightly curled into fists.

"Surely my thoughts are worth more," she retorts with an arched eyebrow, though she refuses to meet his steady gaze as she speaks; evidently still half lost in her musings.

Feeling rather wrong-footed by this more quietly pensive side of his wife, Rodolphus merely stays silent for a few moments, certainly surprised that anything could put a dampener on Bellatrix's excitement.

He feels oddly determined to restore her face to its previous grin.

Leaning in so that his mouth is by her ear once more, he speaks again, his voice a low murmur as he withdraws a wrapped package from his robes; holding it behind his back.

"I have something for you," he says, pleased when Bellatrix turns her head slowly, curiosity glimmering in her dark eyes.

"Have you now," she purrs suggestively, all traces of vulnerability having vanished from her face; though Rodolphus suspects the issue is far from resolved.

"I _had_ intended to give it to you later," he continues smoothly with a boyish smirk, and Bellatrix cannot help but chuckle.

"I'm sure I'll make good use of it," she responds with a matching smirk, looking up at him with her heavy-lidded gaze.

Pressing the package into her hands, Rodolphus gestures for Bellatrix to open his gift and with a faintly bemused look, she tears the wrapping off to reveal a sleek, wooden box.

Arching an eyebrow, she meets his watchful gaze amusedly.

"I hardly have need for more jewellery," she says rather cruelly, as though Rodolphus would be stupid to think to buy his wife such a clichéd gift.

With a low growl at Bellatrix's demeanour, Rodolphus' retort is laced with impatience.

"Just open the damn box, Bellatrix."

Smirking slightly, Bellatrix lifts the box's lid and Rodolphus is thrilled by the pleased, surprised, and altogether hungry expression that appears in her eyes.

"I wanted to mark this occasion," he says with rather frank honesty, and Bellatrix gives a silent nod of acknowledgment, oddly touched by the fact that her husband has purchased a truly perfect present for her, and even more so by the fact that she feels anything at all at the gesture.

Lifting the knife from its snug resting place, she lifts it to the light, admiring the way in which it shines in the light. It's obviously Goblin-made, judging by the weight and quality of the metal, and she suspects it did not come cheaply.

She traces the dangerously sharp blade with a fingertip and smiles widely.

It is one of the few gifts she has gotten in her lifetime that she instantly loves.

Shifting her attention back to Rodolphus, she notes his poorly disguised expectant gaze, and feels a sudden rush of affection for him-that in spite of her love for their Master, he would nevertheless care enough to make such a gesture.

Ordinarily, she'd have spurned such a gesture, labelling it pathetic with a sneering laugh, but the gift is simply too perfect in itself for such mockery.

And so when Rodolphus' begins to ask if she likes it, she presses her lips to his, cutting him off mid-sentence and still holding her newly acquired gift in her palm.

"Thank you very much," Bellatrix says quietly, and Rodolphus is inwardly quite taken aback by both her gratitude and her sincerity.

Indeed, such honest intimacy is almost unfamiliar, and each are distinctly more comfortable when Rodolphus produces a lacy black garter and matching sheath from his robes as well, declaring them part of her gift and insisting that he check they suit her later.

* * *

"It would have been nice if he'd been here," Barty says quietly, sipping from his goblet slowly.

Brow furrowed slightly, Bellatrix cocks her head, considering the sombre look on her protégé's face.

"Who?" she asks, and Barty gives a crooked smile at the demanding note in her voice.

"Regulus," he says bluntly, refusing to cower beneath Bellatrix's dangerous gaze even as he registers her sharp intake of breath. "Sometimes I forget how good a friend he was..."

He chuckles slightly, half-lost in the memories of time spent with his friend. "You know...after I was Marked, I couldn't _wait_ to tell him, I-"

"Enough," Bellatrix says harshly, still pained by the memory of the Dark Lord informing her of Regulus' death. She has certainly dwelt upon enough bad memories tonight, and just _hearing_ Regulus' name is almost enough to undo the contentment Rodolphus' gift had restored.

"Not tonight, Barty," she says in a more meaningful tone, and looking half-surprised, half-mutinous, Barty gives a nod of understanding.

It certainly pains her that her cousin isn't the young man standing next to her, awaiting news of the Dark Lord's victory, and for a moment, Bellatrix wonders if she has sought to replace Regulus with Barty-if she is especially eager to nurture his magic to compromise for the wasted talent of her cousin.

She finds it odd that the thought has never truly occurred to her until now.

"I'm still grateful," Barty comments with a slight smile, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two.

"For you bringing me to Him," he elaborates; their first meeting as clear as day in his mind.

"Yes well," Bellatrix drawls with a smirk, "you should be."

"What can I say," she drawls, waving her hand languidly as she speaks, "I clearly have an eye for talent."

Still chuckling slightly at Bellatrix's haughty manner as she takes his goblet for herself, Barty turns to skim his eye over the rest of the Death Eaters.

As his gaze falls upon Severus Snape, his eyes narrow, Bellatrix's suspicions about the man echoing in his mind. His own misgivings increase tenfold when Snape silently rises from the table, clearly intent on exiting the room in as stealthy a manner as possible.

"Bellatrix," he murmurs, eyes still trained upon Snape, "is it me, or does Snape seem especially eager to make an exit?"

By the time he turns to note the effect of his words, Bellatrix is already halfway across the room, wand in hand.

* * *

Trying to make a swift exit without drawing attention to himself is certainly more difficult than Snape had anticipated. It had taken far greater effort than he'd thought to end his conversation with Lucius, and it was only when his friend had been distracted by the half-drunken shouts of Crabbe and Goyle that Severus had had an opportunity to flee.

Quickening his pace, he curses the Dark Lord for having enabled only one Apparition point on the property-clearly he'd wanted to ensure everyone was present for his victory. Still, Snape muses determinedly, once he gets to the Apparition Point, he may still be in time to save Lily.

The sound of a throat being cleared makes him want to scream in frustration.

"Are you in danger of becoming a good man Severus?"

Neglecting to turn round, Severus stops dead in his tracks, willing himself to appear calm even as he simultaneously curses the day Bellatrix Lestrange was ever born.

"_Must_ you always treat me with such suspicion, Bellatrix?" he asks with cool irritation as he turns to face the witch. "It really is getting rather tiresome."

"Oh I think my suspicions are _entirely_ warranted," she says with fake sweetness though her eyes burn threateningly.

"And yet...the Dark Lord does not," Severus says impatiently, his fingers curling around the wand in his pocket.

"I assume you've been whispering in his ear for quite some time...but clearly to no avail," he spits maliciously. "'Most faithful' indeed," he sneers mockingly, smirking as Bellatrix's cheeks flush hotly.

"To no avail?" she responds softly, taking a step toward Severus, her wand outstretched before her. "Why do you suppose you weren't informed of his intentions tonight?"

"Oh yes, Severus," she continues slowly, a triumphant smirk on her face as she notes the tightening of his mouth, "the Dark Lord heeds the warning of his most faithful servant...and just as well," she hisses, her demeanour changing entirely as she bristles like a wildcat before him.

"You think you can tell Dumbledore everything?" Bellatrix asks threateningly, her wand shaking in her hand as her anger swells. "You think you can undo everything we _loyal _Death Eaters have worked for?"

"I think nothing of the sort," Severus says in a bored tone, looking at Bellatrix disdainfully. "Run along, Bellatrix and pester someone else with your ramblings."

Turning his back on the witch, he keeps a firm grip on his wand as he walks in the opposite direction; ignoring the voice in his head that suggests Bellatrix has delayed him sufficiently. He has almost reached the end of the hallway when she speaks again, her harsh voice mocking and dangerous.

"You think you can run to save your precious little Mudblood in time?" she sneers viciously, eyes narrowed in disgust and hatred.

As Severus whirls around, his face a mask of utter fury, her Shield Charm is thrown up just in time to deflect his Body-Binding Curse.

Cackling wildly, she throws back her head even as she sends a flurry of curses back in response.

"I _knew _it!" she shrieks victoriously, and with a malicious smirk, she dances around his answering spell.

"You're not going _anywhere_," Bellatrix declares, and with a snarl, Severus engages the witch in a hectic, vicious duel.

In fact, both are so caught up in this, a much anticipated and long-awaited fight, that neither hears the footsteps of three other figures.

Severus, therefore, can hardly believe it when his wand sails right out of his grasp into the palm of Rodolphus Lestrange.

Swallowing his feelings of complete helplessness, he narrows his eyes at the man, arching an eyebrow as Rodolphus pockets the wand.

"Can't let your wife fight her own battles, Lestrange?" he mocks, pleased by the infuriated look in Bellatrix's eyes. Clearly she too resents the interruption.

"Oh I can," Rodolphus says smoothly, a dangerous look in his eyes, "but I suspect the Dark Lord would rather bear witness to your punishment for such treachery."

Turning to Rabastan and Barty, he smiles coldly.

"Let's make sure Severus can't run off in the meantime, shall we?"

* * *

The unusually solemn expression remains on the infant's face as Voldemort utters the Killing Curse for the third time that night.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

The victorious grin is still dancing about on his face as the curse hits Harry Potter's forehead, leaving a thin, lightening shaped scar, before Voldemort's eyes widen for a fraction of a second in realisation.

His own curse is rebounding upon him.

Then, there is only pain.

The pain...

He feels as though he is being torn apart...ripped from his body.

He cannot prevent the animalistic scream of agony that flies from his lips, the sound entirely inhuman, and chilling, even to his own ears.

How, _how _did the boy survive? What miscalculation did he make? How could his _own_ spell rebound upon him?

His experiment, at least, worked, his Horcruxes having prevented his death, but he is little more than a shell of his former self, he thinks frantically...weakened, but still alive.

He must go before the Aurors arrive...his Death Eaters will come to his aid.

They will search for him...help restore him to his former glory...

But for now...he must flee.

* * *

"So help me, Lucius," Bellarix hisses viciously into his ear, "if you don't learn to keep your mouth _shut_, the Dark Lord himself won't be able to save you from me."

Sipping languidly from his goblet, Lucius simply arches a questioning eyebrow at his sister-in-law.

"Severus, you fool!" she spits in a low voice, and Lucius follows her gaze to a seat halfway down the table, where Severus is sitting between Rodolphus and Rabastan, sporting a rather brilliant black eye and looking for all the world as though he'd very much like to kill the pair.

"We had to take his wand...well technically, Rodolphus took it," she adds, a slight smile crossing her face at the memory, in spite of her anger.

"Oh please, Bellatrix," Lucius scowls with an air of weariness, "not _tonight_, of all nights." He fills a goblet of wine with a flick of his wand and holds it out for her to take, which she does wordlessly, a mutinous expression on her face.

"_I'm_ trying to ensure our victory," she snarls, her jaw tight as she shifts her glare to Severus once more.

"Our victory is all but secured, Bellatrix," Lucius says pointedly. "To look at your face, one might almost think your confidence in our Master lacking."

Smirking at Bellatrix's look of sheer outrage, he chuckles openly as she seats herself next to him.

"Drink up, sister dear," he says amusedly, raising his own goblet in a salute to the witch.

Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix opens her mouth to retort, but is prevented from doing so by the feeling of a sudden jolt of arrested motion in her arm.

Dread coiling in her stomach, her gaze flies throughout the room and she realises that every Death Eater is clutching their arm in much the same manner as herself, some rolling up their sleeves in curiosity.

A sudden searing pain courses throughout her body, starting at her Mark and almost seeming to strike her heart, far worse than any bout of the Cruciatus, and half-maddened by fear, she cannot help the moan of pain that escapes her lips; the sound mingling with that of her equally pained comrades.

"Bella!" Barty calls her from across the room, the fear in his eyes making him seem quite child-like. "Bella, what's happening?" he asks with desperation, gritting his teeth against the waves of agony flowing in his Mark.

And then, quite suddenly, each Death Eater feels their pain disappear entirely; some breathing sighs of relief, others feeling much more uncertain about what it had even been an indication of.

Meeting Rodolphus' gaze, Bellatrix feels a wave of nausea flow through her as her husband rolls up his sleeve, and she sees his Mark fading before their eyes-its once vibrant black colour a shadow of its former itself.

With a shriek that attracts the attention of all in the room, she pulls up her own sleeve, horrified to find her own Mark has faded in the same manner, the magic that had emanated from it, pulsed throughout her veins... gone.

Low murmurs begin to spread throughout the room as the rest of the Death Eaters follow suit, stunned when they too see the faded outline of their Marks.

"What does it mean?" Karkaroff asks demandingly, fear and shock etched all over his face. When his question is met with uncertain silence, he turns to Lucius, who is staring at his arm as though he seeing the Mark for the very first time.

"Lucius!" he snaps, "what do we do?"

Meeting the man's desperate gaze coldly, Lucius drains the rest of his wine, trying to control the shaking in his hand. He can't go to Azkaban, he can't lose his family, he can't go to Azkaban, he can't lose-

"Evan!" Rodolphus says with forced calmness, taking control and getting the attention of the dark-haired man sitting further down the table, "you and Rabastan go to Godrics' Hollow-see what has happened."

With a half-dazed nod, Evan rises from the table and he and Rabastan make their way out of the room. Rising himself, Rodolphus moves to sit next to Bellatrix, who is cradling her arm like a mother would a child, her eyes swimming with emotions.

"Bella," he says quietly, touching her shoulder gently.

At the contact, she whirls about as though burned, knocking her chair over as she stands.

"No," she murmurs to herself, and the room seems to fall silent as her demons are unleashed. "No...no, no, no, _NO!" _Frantically, she begins tearing at her forearm with the nails of her right hand as though trying to bring some life back into her Mark, great welts rising in her skin until some become so ravaged that they begin to bleed.

All the while she keeps repeating "no", unwilling to believe that it has all come to this, that her Master has been defeated, her voice eventually cracking as a sob makes its way into her throat.

"Merlin," Amycus Carrow breathes to his sister, "she's gone mad, ain't she?"

Recovering quickly from his own shock, Rodolphus reaches out and grabs his wife, pinning her arms to her sides and drawing her tightly against his chest. All the fight seems to have gone out of her momentarily, and weakened, she crumbles back into her seat; Lucius still gazing at his own Mark as though entirely unfazed by Bellatrix's moment of hysteria.

"What do we do now?" Barty asks aloud, addressing the entire room, and Bellatrix, rising her eyes to meet his, realises numbly this is the first question her protégé has asked that she cannot answer.

* * *

"What happened?" Karkaroff demands, once Rabastan and Evan return, both pale-faced and considerably shaken.

"What news of the Dark Lord, Rabastan?" Rodolphus asks with quiet urgency, watching Bellatrix out of the corner of his eye in case she tries to hurt herself again.

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Rabastan exchanges a look with Evan before speaking, his voice hoarse. "The Potters are dead but there's no sign of the Dark Lord...not a single trace of him, but the-"

"But what?" Lucius snaps, a vein throbbing noticeably in his temple as he speaks. In his seat, Severus' hands curl into fists, his throat becoming increasingly constricted with each passing second. Lily...dead...

"We...In the wreckage of the house..." and here the two exchange a look again as though unable to believe what they are about to say.

Clearing his throat, Evan looks around the room into each and every face of his comrades. "We heard a baby crying..."

Looks of confusion meet his words, Bellatrix's head shooting up from her hands, and with a look of disbelief on his face, Evan continues. "It seems that Harry Potter still lives...that he defeated our Lord."

"The Dark Lord defeated by an infant?" Barty sneers, even as some of his fellow Death Eaters begin murmuring worriedly about Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix.

"I too refuse to believe it," Rabastan says quietly, and beside him, Evan nods in agreement.

"We are at the mercy of the Ministry," Lucius says darkly, and his words, though spoken in a quiet tone, seem to echo throughout the entire room. Summoning Severus' wand from Rodolphus' robes, he tosses it down the table to his friend, who snatches it quickly, a look of gratitude crossing his face for an instant.

Standing suddenly, he raises his head, his voice taking on an authoritative tone despite the fear and weariness of his posture. "Plead the Imperius, do what you can...use your families to corroborate your stories-deny everything."

"They will be looking for us now," he says, meeting the eyes of most of in the room. "Do what you can to save yourselves from Azkaban...the Dark Lord has fallen."

Many seem to echo his sentiments, nodding in agreement, and with an enraged shriek, Bellatrix seems to gain her energy back, lunging herself at Lucius with flailing wrists; though Rodolphus manages to hook an arm around her waist before she can swipe at his skin with her nails.

"You traitor!" she spits at her brother-in-law before turning to face the rest of the Death Eaters, "all of you, traitors!"

"The Dark Lord may have fallen, but he cannot _die, _he told me so himself! He is weakened, we must search for him!" she says with urgency.

The colour high in her cheeks, her anger rises as she realises her words have not had the same effect as Lucius'.

"You would abandon him now, when he needs his Death Eaters the most?" she spits, looking around the room with furious disbelief.

"_I_ will search," Barty says firmly, and with an approving nod, Bellatrix scans the room again, her dark eyes full of expectation. Rabastan and Rodolphus each nod in agreement, but with a jolt, she realises they are the only ones that seem willing to look for the Dark Lord.

"Evan?" she asks frostily, arching a dangerous eyebrow toward her cousin.

Exhaling a breath of air, Evan drops his gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I don't believe the Dark Lord's dead, Bellatrix...but Aurors are going to be looking for us," he says quickly, looking anywhere but at his cousin.

"I think it's best if we lay low," he suggests quietly, and a low murmur of agreement spreads throughout the room.

"The Dark Lord can find _us_," Dolohov points out, rising from his seat. "We don't need to draw attention to ourselves at a time like this, Bellatrix."

"Does your Mark mean _nothing_?" Rodolphus asks coolly, rising to stand alongside his wife.

"It means nothing _now_," Lucius says coldly, tightening his grip around his wand as he stares down the Lestrange couple.

"You _forget_," he hisses, his grey eyes positively arctic, "some of us have _much_ to lose."

Narrowing her eyes, Bellatrix nods slowly, an unidentifiable emotion dancing in her dark eyes.

"You've made your choice then," she says with an air of finality, and Lucius nods. "I appreciate your looking out for my sister's welfare, Malfoy," she says so quietly that he almost has to strain to hear her, "but I fear you may regret your decision when the Dark Lord returns."

Lucius' lips seem to twitch almost amusedly for a split second. "Faithful as ever, Bellatrix," he murmurs, before sweeping out of the room; gone in a flurry of silver hair and black robes.

His departure seems to inspire movement throughout the rest of the ranks, Severus the next to leave, and many, still wearing rather stunned and frightened looks on their faces, make equally swift departures, studiously avoiding Bellatrix's hateful glare.

Peter Pettigrew, for his part, makes a point of departing in his Animagus form, fleeing the room before Bellatrix thinks of killing him in a fitful rage.

Eventually, Barty, Rabastan, Rodolphus and Bellatrix are the only ones remaining in the room.

"We need to form a plan," Rodolphus says determinedly, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to ease their pounding.

"To the ends of the Earth," Barty murmurs, the resonance of Bellatrix's words giving him the strength he needs.

Bellatrix just about manages a smile.

* * *

**A/N: **Bloody hell, that was ridiculously draining to write...I didn't expect this to turn out quite so long but my muse, having abandoned me so abruptly, went overboard to make it up to me, I guess! Hope it met expectations and didn't disappoint, I tend to be rather antsy about writing these more high-profile moments, though I suspect a great deal of it has to do with my reluctance to upset dear Bellatrix.

Reviews would be entirely wonderful, and if anyone has any suggestions for what they'd like to see in coming chapters, (characters, moments, etc) feel free to put your thoughts out there!


	31. His Most Faithful

**A/N: As Voldemort would say, I'm baaaaack! It's been a ridiculously long, LONG time since I updated this story and I can only apologise sincerely for the wait-I know there's nothing more frustrating than an abandoned story. Unfortunately life (college, work etc) just took over and this story was affected-then when I **_**did**_** start to write this update, it just never seemed satisfactory...**

**BUT, after watching DH II and seeing my beloved Helena play Bellatrix so wonderfully (despite ridiculously short screen time, boo), I realised how much I really really missed writing **_**my **_**Bellatrix!**

**Hopefully people are still interested in this story and the long wait hasn't put you off entirely! I'm ****very**** happy to be back writing, having missed the world of fanfiction so much! I **_**promise **_**the next chapter will be up soon. **

**Hope you all enjoy, reviews are love. :)**

* * *

"_I must lose myself in action lest I wither in despair."_

_~Lord Tennyson_

* * *

"We need to strengthen the wards before we do anything else," Rodolphus reminds Bellatrix quietly, noting the tremor of her hand with increasing worry.

Stiffening slightly, Bellatrix nods wordlessly, waving her wand through the air in unison with her husband.

Turning to address Barty and Rabastan, her eyes narrow when she sees their wands lying idle in their hands.

"Make yourselves _useful_," she snarls, the fire in her eyes leaving little room for argument. Her breathing, far harsher than usual, is the only sound that can be heard; her companions now equally focused on increasing the protections of Lestrange Manor.

"That should be enough," Rodolphus murmurs a few moments later, throwing open the gates with a quick series of movements from his wand.

Bellatrix stalks past him like a woman half possessed, apparating the moment she sets foot inside the grounds.

Following suit, the other three appear in the Manor itself moments later, loud crashes from upstairs the only indication that Bellatrix is there too.

"Calm her, Rodolphus," Rabastan orders firmly, a vein in his temple pulsing noticeably. "We don't have time for her fits," he sneers pointedly, marching into the parlour to fix himself a drink, Rodolphus suspects.

Rolling his eyes with irritation, Rodolphus exhales a breath of air; wondering idly how he's supposed to calm his wife down without risking an Unforgivable.

"_I'll_ talk to her," Barty hisses, looking at him intently, and Rodolphus doesn't miss the hint of disgust in the young man's voice, or the almost possessive look in his eye.

Within seconds, he has the younger man pinned against the wall, his wand digging into Barty's throat.

"Listen to me, _boy,_" Rodolphus snarls viciously, his eyes narrowed in fury, "you may think being Bellatrix's _pet_ means you've got some kind of power, but it doesn't."

He arches an eyebrow, eyeing the boy's defiant expression with a smirk. "It means you're something for her to take amusement in, to train...no better than a _pup." _

Tightening his grip on the young man's shirt, his eyes take on a murderous glare as he continues. "Don't even think about testing me, or I can guarantee you a permanent stay in St. Mungo's, protégé or _not."_

"Your jealousy is _amusing_," Barty spits mockingly, leaning into Rodolphus' wand rather than away from it.

"I can understand it, Rodolphus," he sneers patronisingly, "your wife preferring to spend time with me rather than you, the long hours we put in...the intense sessions..."

A hiss escapes his lips as Rodolphus' wand burns his flesh, but he continues to smile mockingly.

"When the Dark Lord returns, I look forward to defeating you in his presence...And _hers._"

Wrenching Barty away from the wall and throwing him to the floor, Rodolphus chuckles chillingly, his wand pointed directly at Barty's heart, and for the first time, the younger man feels a slight prickling of fear.

"I was performing Unforgivables before you even hit puberty, Crouch," Rodolphus sneers, "with _her _at my side."

With that, he turns on his heel, stalking upstairs as Barty remains sprawled on the floor; half amused, half wary.

* * *

Draco's wails continue to echo throughout the nursery, and having shooed away the pitiful house-elf with an icy glare, Narcissa tries to soothe her increasingly distressed son.

Shifting Draco on to her hip, she picks up his stuffed dragon-a gift from his Aunt Bellatrix-with the other hand, hoping it will bring a smile to his face as it usually does.

If possible, the sight of his favourite toy makes him cry harder and with a furious scowl, he knocks the dragon from his mother's hand, frustration all over his reddened face.

Narrowing her eyes slightly at the petulant act, Narcissa moves to the window, bouncing Draco gently on her hip while shushing him softly. A strange feeling is settling in her stomach that has little to do with her son's incessant tears, and as she stares at the stars in the sky she suddenly longs for Lucius' reassuring touch.

He had mentioned little about the night's activities, only that it was going to be a cause for celebration, and that he wouldn't have to leave their bed in the middle of the night anymore. His sly grin following the latter half of the statement had made her toes curl, and she couldn't deny the lust _or _the sense of relief his words had inspired.

But now, she can't help feeling as though something is wrong, and as her son hiccups in her arms pitifully, she wonders idly if he feels it too.

A relieved smile breaks across her face when she notes the shimmering of the Manor gates as her husband passes through them. Within seconds of his feet touching the grounds inside the gates, he has turned again, apparating directly into the Manor as only a Malfoy can, and she hears his voice calling for her downstairs moments later.

Smiling at her son as his crying becomes light sniffles, she presses a kiss to his forehead and places him back in his crib once more, hurrying to the door once she hears Lucius call for her once more.

He is already halfway up the stairs when she reaches the end of the hallway, and the sound of his panicked yells is enough to make her heart stop in her chest as she speeds up her pace.

They almost collide at the top of the staircase and Narcissa is afforded only a quick glance at her husband's pale, stricken face before he roughly pulls her into a desperate embrace.

Held tightly against his chest, the sensation of his heart frantically beating against her own, Narcissa tries to soothe her shaking husband even as her own limbs tremble with trepidation.

"Lucius what's wr-" she tries to ask, but as soon as she speaks, he forcibly grabs the back of her head, silencing her as he covers her mouth with his own in a bruising, needy, and entirely uncharacteristic kiss; a realisation that causes her to wrench away from his grasp in fright.

"Lucius," she says firmly, her heart pounding in her chest as she regards the weakened state of her husband, "tell me what's happened."

Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself, suddenly looking rather ashamed of his raw display of emotion even as he clearly struggles to speak coherently.

"The Dark Lord...He's fallen, defeated," he says slowly, and Narcissa feels as though the whole world has slowed to this single moment; hundreds of thoughts rushing through her brain in response to Lucius' single statement.

"The Aurors..." he continues quietly, "they'll be here, it's only a matter of time." He grasps her hands tightly in his as a small gasp escapes her, and holds them tightly within his own.

Thoughts whirring, Narcissa eyes their linked hands and resolves, in that instant, to do everything in her power to ensure Lucius is not taken from her and Draco.

"The Imperius Curse," she says slowly, plans quickly forming in her mind, for she was not a Slytherin for nothing. With a grim smile, Lucius nods, squeezing her hands.

"It's the only way to avoid Azkaban," he says firmly, "that, and a few well placed bribes within the Ministry."

"We'll figure it out," Narcissa breathes, a determined glint in her eyes and with a tight nod, Lucius draws her back to his chest once more.

After a long moment of silence, she suddenly feels Lucius stiffen against her and turns her gaze to his, her eyes searching his face questioningly.

"There's something else," he says almost reluctantly, and before he speaks, Narcissa already knows what he's going to say. Having been distracted by her husband's distress, she hadn't even thought about her sister and the loss of her passion, the loss of her reason for fighting, for living.

Dread coursing through her veins, she spins on her heel and runs upstairs, steadfastly ignoring Lucius' furious and panicked protests as she races toward the study, fresh tears of fear already blurring her vision.

* * *

The air feels suffocating, heavy all around her, as though her entire world has fallen upon her shoulders. The broken glass of the mirror crunches under her feet as she strides toward the balcony, desperate for air to relieve the claustrophobia threatening to engulf her.

The cool winds do little to cool Bellatrix's burning skin, and in the faint light of the stars, she can _almost _pretend that her Mark is as black, as alive as ever. But as she traces its outline with an unsteady fingertip, no excited shiver courses through her; no sense of Dark Magic causes her pulse to beat that _little_ bit faster.

If she'd had to confront a Boggart that morning, Bellatrix can't even imagine it designing the circumstances she now finds herself in.

Her Lord...out there, weakened...suffering...unable to contact them...His supposedly loyal Death Eaters refusing to help search for him, renouncing his name to save their skins...a _halfblood infant _supposedly having weakened the greatest wizard of all time...

Hot angry tears fill her eyes and enraged, she drags down her sleeve to cover the inactive Mark once more as her blood roars in her ears furiously.

She is the only servant the Dark Lord needs, and _she_ will be the one to find him...His Most Faithful, she murmurs to herself, nodding quickly as she grips her wand tightly, red sparks shooting from its tip.

But where to begin the search? Chewing her lip anxiously, she teeters back and forth on her heels, tipping her gaze to the sky as though the stars will provide guidance.

Her heart wills her to apparate to Godric's Hollow, to the location where her Lord had fallen, but even amidst this burning desire and whirling emotion, she recognises the probability of it being swarmed by Aurors, and the chances of her falling entirely apart at the sight of the ruined house.

But if there's any chance of there being a hint of the Dark Lord's whereabouts...

"It's too dangerous," her husband's voice says forcefully from the doorway, and with an enraged hiss, Bellatrix turns abruptly, sending a particularly vicious Diffindo Charm in direction without hesitation as her grief and fear rushes forth from the tip of her wand.

Grimacing slightly as her hex hits home, he retaliates with a snarl and a quick flick of his wand, knocking Bellatrix off her feet even as she whirls her wand through the air with burning rage.

A well-placed and hastily cast Shield Charm saves him from the brunt of his wife's furious grief, but with narrowed eyes, Bellatrix springs to her feet and unleashes wave upon wave of increasingly vicious hexes upon her husband.

Snarling furiously and his patience worn almost entirely thin, Rodolphus is forced to cast multiple Shield Charms against the incessant rain of spells, beads of sweat dotting his brow as he grounds his teeth to resist the brutal retaliation Bellatrix is enticing him toward.

Eventually, his already frayed temper snaps, and with the predatory reflexes that make him such a formidable opponent, Rodolphus rolls away from one curse and in the same movement, simply lunges himself at his frazzled wife, knocking her to the ground and batting her wand away with a furious growl.

With an indignant shriek at his unexpected physical tactics, Bellatrix struggles beneath his larger frame, swiping her hand across Rodolphus' face in temper, her long nails leaving deep, angry lines in their wake.

Blood thrumming in his ears, Rodolphus readjusts his weight and pins her wrists to the floor, his face barely an inch from hers.

"_Stop this_," he commands forcefully, his dark eyes boring into her flashing black eyes. If anything, the order merely prompts Bellatrix to redouble her efforts, arching her back in a desperate attempt to dislodge his form from atop hers as she shrieks in his face, nostrils flared and eyes wide like a wild horse.

Shaking her forcefully, Rodolphus narrows his eyes, "BELLATRIX STOP THIS!" he yells, the timbre of his voice vibrating against her form.

His mouth next to her ear as she continues to writhe beneath him furiously, he swallows a sudden rush of self-hatred before he speaks again, more meaningfully and quietly than before.

"You're useless to our Lord in this state, nothing more than an unstable wreck, Bellatrix. He'd be disgusted to see you like this, a pathetic, unfocused _woman_."

For a moment, he wonders if it is possible for Bellatrix's eyeballs to explode from her face, but is soon distracted by her spitting in his face before she launches into a raging tirade of abuse.

Rodolphus, knowing that time is of the essence, simply reels back and strikes his wife across the face with a stunning blow.

A trickle of blood slides from her mouth as she is forced to take pause, looking at him with both hatred, and almost wonder in her black orbs.

"Like this," he hisses, shaking her still quivering form forcibly, "you are a _liability _to the search for the Dark Lord. If we are to find him Bellatrix," he continues, tightening his grip on her wrists, you have to _channel _your rage, your fear. Turn it against those who will seek us out, those who will rejoice in the collapse of our ranks, our reign..."

"Your despair..."

Leaning back off his wife's form, Rodolphus sighs heavily, summoning her wand from across the room.

Stiffening, Bellatrix's eyes seem to refocus, and grounding her jaw, she simply stares at Rodolphus for a long moment, clearly mulling over his words.

The underlying meaning of Rodolphus' words, which Bellatrix has picked up on, is a fear that she will become consumed by the very passion that she is so often characterised by.

Getting to his feet, Rodolphus holds out a hand to help Bellatrix up, which she, as he had expected, sneers at. He smirks, noting that Bellatrix is not exactly a woman who looks for assistance.

Extending his arm, he holds out his wand for her to take, which she does, snatching it and holding it tightly to her form as though she had been missing a part of herself in its absence.

"Rodolphus," she breathes angrily, looking at him from beneath her lashes, "don't ever, _ever _take my wand from me again...or it _will_ be the end of you."

Having expected such a threat, Rodolphus merely nods, and still quiet, Bellatrix presses a finger to the already bruising mark of his palm on her face.

She makes no comment about his striking her, and though she will certainly not admit it, she is almost grateful for the stinging pain upon her skin-it serves as a small distraction from the pain in her heart, and even more importantly, grounds her in the moment...and the mission ahead.

Moving toward her husband sleekly, she presses him against the wall with slight force, meeting his questioning gaze with a smirk.

"For once, Roddy, you make some sense...and together, we'll make that damned Order tremble beneath our wands."

Scraping her nails down his chest, enjoying the hitch of his breath, her hand reaches his belt buckle and she feels his body tense against hers.

"But the next time you treat me like a snivelling Pureblood _bitch_," she snarls, all hints of seduction having vanished, "that you can smack around without repercussion," she crushes her lips to his, nipping his lip sharply till she tastes metal upon her tongue even as she presses her wand to his groin, "you can guess what will happen."

Eyeing each other heatedly, their chests rising and falling quickly, the couple remain pressed against one another unspeaking, unyielding, till eventually, the silence is broken by a sharp cry from the fireplace.

"BELLA!"

* * *

"Think about what you're doing," Narcissa pleads, eyeing her sister warily as she twirls her wand through her fingers.

"I seem to recall telling you that when Lucius asked you to Hogsmeade in your third year," Bellatrix says snarkily, not lifting her gaze from her wand.

Biting her lip, Narcissa's gaze wanders around the bedroom, her sharp gaze taking in the destruction that was Bellatrix's passion for the Dark Lord.

"What do you intend to do now?" she asks cautiously, all too aware of the manner in which a grieving Bellatrix could snap at any moment.

Lifting her head slowly, her eyes burning black, Bellatrix stares at Narcissa with an air of condescension rarely targeted at her sister.

"Why I intend to search for Him, of course," she says dangerously, quirking an eyebrow as though daring Narcissa to contradict her actions. "What else would you have me do?"

Standing, she moves to pace around the room and Narcissa, well tuned to her elder sister's thoughts, accurately pinpoints the cause of the tension in the room.

"I fully support Lucius' decision, Bellatrix."

"There's a surprise," her sister scoffs over her shoulder.

"You'd prefer your sister to be without a husband? Your nephew to be without a father?" Narcissa asks coolly, her gaze positively arctic even as her sister's burned.

"Don't say I didn't warn you when Lucius is punished for his treachery," Bellatrix grounds out angrily.

"It is not your place to judge Lucius' decisions," Narcissa says with a forceful air of finality, and as though struck, Bellatrix's pace falters and she steps back to seemingly re-examine her sister.

"You're judging _mine_," she hisses pointedly. "You think me too maddened by grief to see the pity in your eyes, sister? To see that you think me foolish?"

"I think your judgement is clouded and that you're not thinkin-," Narcissa attempts to reason, but Bellatrix cuts across her statement in frustration.

"I don't need to _think_, Narcissa, I _feel!" _Whirling about, she gestures toward the window, her sense of purpose and duty rising within her like a beast rearing its head.

"The Dark Lord is out there, I _know _it! I WILL find him."

"At what cost?" Narcissa asks quietly.

Bellatrix cocks her head, regarding her sister with a strange mix of emotions in her eyes-Narcissa thinks she detects a sense of pity in her sister's dark orbs but in the next moment, it vanishes.

"I am a _warrior_, Cissa, and this war is not yet over."

Resisting the urge to damn the Wizarding War to hell, Narcissa simply nods, knowing her sister well enough to know when her mind is made up.

"So you will continue the fight," she comments, more of a statement than a query.

"For as long as I am able," is the immediate reply.

"The Ministry will be looking for you," Narcissa declares, a vain attempt at warning Bellatrix against the rash action she suspects is ahead.

"Well that's nothing new," Bellatrix chuckles condescendingly. "In fact, it would be an honour to have my face on a 'Most Wanted' poster for the Cause."

"And therein lies the problem," Narcissa remarks pointedly, "you are careless with your own life, Bella, _far_ too careless."

"But," she continues, holding up her hand to pause Bellatrix's ensuing rant, "I trust in your abilities. All I'm asking is that you don't do anything drastic in your...search."

Conscious of Bellatrix's behaviour when her emotions fray, Narcissa knows she might as well be asking her sister to befriend Lucius.

"I'll do what I deem necessary for the Dark Lord," she comments, and Narcissa knows that Bellatrix's temper is already wearing thin of these warnings.

"As I will for my _family_," Narcissa says quietly, and after a moment, Bellatrix gives a small nod of understanding.

Having eyed her sister for a long moment in silence, Bellatrix eventually sighs and moves forward, drawing her arms around Narcissa's shoulders and like that, Narcissa knows it is time for her to leave her sister to her duty.

"Be safe, Bella," she whispers into her sister's curls, and it is indicative of Bellatrix's love for her sister that she does not mock Narcissa's plea.

Instead, she merely presses a kiss to her sister's cheek and directs her back to the fireplace, chewing her lip awkwardly. Neither sister has ever been fond of goodbyes.

"I'll be in touch once things die down," Bellatrix promises as Narcissa grasps a handful of Floo Powder and jerkily, Narcissa nods, not trusting herself to speak as fear constricts her heart in an icy grip.

"I love you, Bella," she eventually says, and as she is engulfed by the green flames of the Floo Network, she cannot help but begin to cry as she hears Bellatrix's quiet response.

* * *

In the distance, Bellatrix's sharp eyes barely spot a red spark sailing into the air, breaking her train of thought, followed by another, and another. The raging beast within her, which had barely been quietened, rears its ugly head and roars. Celebrations across the Wizarding World have begun.

"They cheer our Lord's fall," a deep voice muses from behind her and her spine stiffens as the meaning of his words set in. "Owls litter the sky carrying news of the victory of the Light," he says slowly, almost poetically.

"Foolish," she hisses, her knuckles turning white around her wand, and for a moment, Rodolphus fears it may actually break in her grasp.

"They'll think our forces running scared," Rodolphus points out, drumming his fingers against the railing of the balcony.

"They'd be right," she grounds out angrily, casting him a sideways glance as they remember the cowardice of their comrades.

"It affords us an advantage, at least," her husband says thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in thought and intrigued, Bellatrix leans back upon her husband's chest, relying on him momentarily for the strength that has been reaped from her.

"We need only lie low for a while, and over time, they shall grow complacent in their joy, their sense of security overwhelming their judgement, wards shall crumble..."

"And we shall strike," his wife finishes, dangerous waves of magic crackling around their forms as matching vicious smirks twist their lips.

* * *

**A/N: I should also mention...a few months ago, I met Alan Rickman after having seen him in a play and then sprinting to the stage door afterwards. Two autographs and a quick chat later...BEST NIGHT EVER. :D **


	32. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

**A/N: I could bore you all with the reasons for the incredibly long time between updates but the short version is work, working toward my Masters degree and crippling writer's block. I'm already working on the next update so hopefully it'll be up soon! As always, my sincere thanks to all those who reviewed etc, it makes the writer's block less painful ;) Oh! My Pottermore name is BladeGalleon5616, add me! :)**

**Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

"_Faith__ in something greater than ourselves enables us to do what we have said we'll do, to press forward when we are tired or hurt or afraid, to keep going when the challenge seems overwhelming and the course is entirely uncertain.__"_

_~Gordon B. Hinckley._

* * *

"I've always loved the rain."

She murmurs the words so quietly that Rodolphus almost misses them, turning his head swiftly to glance at his wife's drawn face.

"The rain?" he asks, the far-away expression in her eyes making him slightly worried.

"It makes me feel young again," she muses, as if not having heard his words at all, a slow smile spreading over her face as a clap of thunder roars in the sky.

From his seat in the corner, Rabastan rolls his eyes at Rodolphus meaningfully and strides to the stairs, presumably heading to his current bedroom. The cottage they've acquired is certainly far from the luxury they are accustomed to, but their study of the previous owner had revealed her misanthropic ways and pitifully lonely life, which suited their needs perfectly. By Bellatrix's reasoning, the old witch they'd killed was merely hovering at death's door anyway.

Frequently moving from location to location seems to affect Bellatrix most deeply. With every week that passes without success, Rodolphus notices her temper growing more frayed and her behaviour more erratic; on more than one occasion, he has arisen in the night to find her whispering to her Mark, kissing it with a reverence that makes something in his stomach tighten angrily.

Now, as he takes in her haunted countenance, he can't help but wonder if the search for the Dark Lord is compromising his wife's sanity.

"Race me."

The words fly from Bellatrix's lips unbidden and hang heavily in the air.

Turning to Rodolphus, she meets his gaze for what feels like the first time in days, her black eyes almost beseeching him to agree. Then, with a more devilish –and certainly, more familiar – grin, she speaks again.

"Do you think me likely to melt, Lestrange?"

At her words, a memory of a rain-soaked, younger Bellatrix perched upon her broomstick flashes before his eyes, and before he knows it, a bark of laughter escapes his lips.

Smirking, she slips past him, opening the back door with a flick of her wand and striding into the rather overgrown field attached to the isolated cottage. He watches, transfixed from the doorway as she shrugs off her dress and boots, till she stands before him in nought but her chemise and corset.

She unlaces her corset with an enticing look over her shoulder, and for a single moment, Rodolphus feels seventeen again, heady with arousal, the weight of war and servitude temporarily forgotten. With every raindrop that pelts down, Bellatrix's shift clings increasingly tight to the contours of her body, and knowingly, she gives a feline stretch that causes the blood to thrum in his ears.

"To that corpse of trees then," Rodolphus challenges as the sky above sparks with energy, grumbling its agreement.

"On the count of three," she declares, before turning swiftly on her heel as he'd known she would.

The burning in Bellatrix's chest is a welcome ache as she sprints toward the trees, ignoring the tendrils of her hair that threaten to obscure her vision.

A flash of lightning cuts the sky and in response, a wild peal of laughter escapes her lips as the wind sings symphony in her ears. She can sense Rodolphus' presence only a few steps behind her and the energy washing off of him spurs her on, increasing her desire for glory. Having not duelled for so long, she revels in the sheer unadulterated pleasure of tempting the angry heavens to strike her down, wholly intoxicated by the risk and sense of competition at hand.

Reaching the corpse of trees only a mere breath before Rodolphus, she sinks against a tree, still laughing. When he sees her face, Rodolphus finds he can't truly mind losing, not if it brings some spark of life back to Bellatrix.

In her gaze, there appears a wordless demand, and with the wolfish grin that she often finds rather attractive, he sinks his fingers into her curls and meets her lips with a burning urgency that makes her blood sing even more.

Half maddened by the feelings awakened by the close proximity of their bodies, they rip open the fastenings of Rodolphus' shirt between them, rain falling in tiny rivers over both their chests.

As Rodolphus' lips fall to her collarbone, a rather sharp nip causes Bellatrix's back to arch and her arms to wind themselves around his strong shoulders.

A purr escapes her lips, and as if in reply, the sky rumbles menacingly, causing Bellatrix's eyes to open slowly. Writhing slightly against Rodolphus' ministrations, her head lolls back against the tree and in doing so, her eye catches sight of her forearm. The Dark Mark, faded heavily, seems to mock her, to declare her a failure, a traitor.

If this were a test, she would surely have failed, and such a thought causes her heart to twist painfully in her chest.

The realisation of what she is doing while her Lord is alone and weakened makes her entire frame stiffen against Rodolphus, and with a half-maddened growl, she pushes his body from hers.

"Bellatrix, what-"

His aroused state gives way to irritation as she slumps to the ground, her arm cradled in her grasp as she murmurs a hushed apology to her Mark, determination and pride nevertheless bright in her black orbs.

The temptation to leave her catch her death in the unforgiving conditions beckons sweetly, and grounding his jaw, he moves away from her curled up form, attempting to soothe his bruised ego. Moments later, he catches sight of her enticing body and resisting the urge to backhand her for her fickleness, wordlessly drapes his cloak over shoulders as he nudges her to her feet.

"I've always loved the rain," Bellatrix murmurs, and for the life of her, she can't understand why Rodolphus suddenly looks so very sad, and so afraid.

* * *

"You look like Hell," Rabastan comments bluntly, and with a shrug, Rodolphus pours himself a tumbler of Firewhiskey.

"I feel it," he says darkly, avoiding his brother's penetrating gaze.

"No word from Barty?" he asks lowly, half wishing the young man would provide them _some _inside information to go on.

"Perhaps the world's too busy celebrating to contemplate that the Dark Lord _didn_'t actually die," Rabastan muses. "Information's probably not easy to come by."

"It's a spy within the Order that we need," Rodolphus concedes with a degree of weariness, inwardly pondering where next they could search for the Dark Lord. Rabastan merely chuckles in response, "one more loyal than Snape, at least."

"How's Bellatrix?" Rabastan asks quietly, studying his brother closely, half-understanding, half-resentful of her moments of instability.

"Teetering," Rodolphus says shortly, eyeing his brother through the bottom of his glass.

"Well," his brother exhales slowly, "I know something that will either push her over the edge _entirely_, or make her incredibly happy."

At his older sibling's intrigued and questioning glance, Rabastan unfurls a copy of the Daily Prophet and lays it out upon the table.

Rodolphus' eyes immediately fly to the headline and accompanying picture on the front page and with an arched eyebrow, he meets his brother's bemused gaze.

"This _must _be a joke."

* * *

She's worried.

She admits it to herself in the dead of night, when a day's searching has proved fruitless, and when the task at hand seems utterly hopeless. Sometimes, she perceives a tinge of annoyance in Rodolphus' tone, and recognises that he is handling this all far better than she, but then, she considers her fate more intertwined in her Master's than his is, so his composure makes sense, she muses.

But Bellatrix is worried.

A smaller voice in her head reminds her of her wandering wits, that in her stricken state, her senses are traipsing off now and then - not all of the time, but still, more than she would like. She knows, however, without a semblance of a doubt, that all will right itself upon the Dark Lord's return.

She sees Rabastan and Rodolphus talking together in the kitchen, heads bent low and suddenly yearns for Barty's irrepressible energy, for him to bring them some information to direct their search.

Outside, the wind howls, the rain pounds down, and she waits.

* * *

Two days later, when she spots Rodolphus and Rabastan exchanging significant glances, Bellatrix's fraying temper snaps.

"That's it," she spits, slamming a palm upon the table and making the men jump, "what in the name of Merlin are you not telling me?"

Chewing his lip, Rabastan glances at his elder brother and shrugs. Rodolphus, sighing, withdraws a piece of folded up paper from his pocket and places it on the table, keeping his hand over it.

"There was something in the paper," he says slowly, and as Bellatrix's eyes widen, he hurries to elaborate, "_not _about the Dark Lord..." and her expression relaxes slightly.

"Then _what_?" she asks coolly, drumming her long nails on the wood, "you two shouldn't be keeping _me _in the dark about anything, I-"

"You're not in control of your emotions," Rodolphus says darkly and Rabastan, sensing an outcry from Bellatrix, shifts his chair away from her slightly.

"You're slipping back into the wreck you were that night in our bedroom," he continues forcefully, his frustrations driving his words. "I _told _you to channel your fear, your rage, but instead, you're letting it weaken you!"

With a snarl, Bellatrix stands, her chair falling to the ground with a bang that no-one truly registers. "How dare you," she hisses, her eyes positively burning. "Just because I _care_ about the Dark Lord's well being does not make me weak! I, who proved myself more capable a servant than either one of you!"

Eyes narrowing, Rodolphus stands as well, his knuckles whitening as his hands curl into angry fists. "And what about now, when truly challenged?" he growls, a vein throbbing in his forehead, "you're pitiful, a shadow of your former self!"

"I am _BELLATRIX LESTRANGE!_" his wife shrieks, a burst of accidental magic causing the small windows to explode.

Rodolphus, ignoring the glass flying through the air, simply thumps a fist upon the table and roars. _"THEN ACT LIKE IT!"_

Breathing heavily, the couple stare at each other, almost unseeing, for a long moment until Rabastan clears his throat and draws them back to their surroundings. Righting her chair with a quick flick of her wand, Bellatrix sits down stiffly as Rodolphus does the same, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a contemptuous glance at her husband.

"_What_ don't I know?" she asks haughtily, her gaze falling upon the piece of paper beneath Rodolphus' palm.

Wordlessly, Rodolphus pushes the paper toward Bellatrix, inwardly somewhat relieved at her change in attitude. Impatiently, Bellatrix snatches the paper and unfolds it, casting the Lestrange brothers an irritated glare in the process.

"This better not be important," she starts to threaten, but then her gaze falls upon the picture that dominates the page and suddenly, words fail her altogether.

"_DEATH EATER SIRIUS BLACK SENTENCED TO TWELVE YEARS IN AZKABAN."_

Half-stunned, Bellatrix can only read the article in silence, her eyes a blur as they fly across the sentences.

When she finishes, she simply lays the paper down slowly, tracing the picture of her cousin's face with a fingertip.

Rodolphus and Rabastan exchange a wary look, before the younger brother inclines his head toward Bellatrix, and Rodolphus acquiesces.

"Bellatrix," he says calmly, and after a moment, she lifts her head to acknowledge his having called her.

"They think Sirius is a Death Eater", she states flatly, and at Rodolphus' nod of confirmation, she continues.

"They think he betrayed the Potters, that he murdered a bunch of Muggles and that he murdered _Pettigrew." _

Again, Rodolphus nods, a slightly puzzled look in his eyes at the level tone of his wife.

Bellatrix turns her attention to the picture of her cousin once more, noting the pain, disbelief and fear in his eyes.

"_You are a BLACK!" _she hears herself scream at a sixteen year old Sirius, his defiant glare fresh in her memories, even after all these years. Part of her despises the fact that her cousin is now regarded as being amongst the Dark Lord's inner circle, the elite of the Death Eaters, but on the other hand, the sheer irony of the entire situation is almost delicious. It causes her lips to twitch, and as she considers how much being branded a Death Eater and having his friends _believe _him capable of such acts must have hurt him, she smiles toothily, then tosses her head back, laughing for the first time in what feels like _years. _

* * *

_"It is unlikely, certainly, but __if __I were somehow defeated...I would rise again, Bella, I assure you of that."_

_"It seems that Harry Potter still lives...that he defeated our Lord."_

"_Another bad seed on the Black family tree then..."_

_"I've always said, female Death Eaters are only good for one purpose..."_

_"Both families appear to __also__ know of the prophecy...attacking them may be more difficult than we thought..."_

"_Yes, yes, you and Dumbledore's army, take a number..."_

_"I am a __warrior__, Cissa, and this war is not yet over."_

With a gasp, Bellatrix jolts upward from her slumber, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. Her mind whirring from the sheer onslaught of memories that compose her dreams of late, she slips out of bed, padding toward the window. The sight of the stars, as always, momentarily soothes her and suppressing a shiver, she stares at the sky, drawing strength from the Amazon Star.

"I am Bellatrix Lestrange," she murmurs, her fingers tightening around her wand, and in that instant, she resolves to tear the Wizarding World apart, if needs be.

Thus, when Rodolphus and Rabastan enter the kitchen hours later, they are met with the sight of Bellatrix sitting _atop_ the table, legs crossed and wand in hand, looking fresher than she has for weeks.

"It's time for a new course of action," she states clearly, by way of greeting. "We need information to go on, answers."

Smirking in unison at this more familiar Bellatrix, the brothers nod, looking at the witch expectantly as they wait for her to elaborate.

With a predatory look in her dark eyes, Bellatrix twirls her wand through her fingers smoothly, meeting their gaze with a seductive, almost dangerous smile. "It's time we went back to London."

* * *

I'm sure you can guess what's coming in the next few chapters ;)


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